


Game Over

by Treon



Series: Free as a Bird 'verse [12]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe, Friendship, Gen, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 30,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21504007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treon/pseuds/Treon
Summary: When one of Neal's jobs goes wrong, the FBI finds evidence which could put him away for a long, long time.  With Neal on the run, Peter is called in to track down the fugitive.Part of the "Free as a Bird" series, an AU in which Neal never escaped from prison and never made a deal with the FBI.This fic is dedicated to Diahann Carroll, who gave us June.
Series: Free as a Bird 'verse [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/47461
Comments: 114
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will be posted about once a week

June stood by the door leading out to her rooftop balcony, gazing over the skyline of central Manhattan. The sun was setting, casting a magical glow over the high-rises. The Chrysler Building shone with a myriad lights. It was beautiful, and she wondered how long she was going to enjoy it.

This place held so many memories. Those long-gone-by days, when Byron and she ran a casino on the rooftop. It was like one continuous garden party. Game tables spilled out to the balcony, the laughs of success and the cries of defeat mixing with the sounds of chips being thrown about and cards getting dealt, and all around them, the vibrant hum of city traffic. 

A lot of things have changed since then. Her daughters have grown up and moved away. Now they wanted her to be closer to them. "You're all alone in that big old house, Ma," was the constant refrain. 

"I'm not alone," she'd tell them. "I have Carol here, and she's taking good care of me."

"She's not there every day, and what if something happens?"

"Nothing will happen," June would snap back.

But they were right. The neighborhood was not what it used to be. There were drug dealers and pimps just around the corner. The kids that hung around knew her and respected her. "Hey, Ms. E.," they'd wave to her when she passed by. But she couldn't count on that respect lasting forever. 

And then came the attempt to rob her house. After the FBI team had swooped in and arrested the culprits, the agents had insisted she call in somebody from her family. Once her daughters heard about it, they had hit the roof. "It's not like the old days, Ma. It's dangerous out there for you."

But she couldn't leave the house. It had been Byron's dream. He'd wanted to own a castle, and this was the closest they could find.

"Grandma? What do you think?" June turned to take a look as her eldest granddaughter, Cindy, approached her. She had come out of what used to be the speakeasy back in the olden days, and was now a clothes closet where June stored all of Byron's old clothes. Cindy had taken one of Byron's fedoras, placing it jauntily on her head.

June laughed. "You can have that, if you want."

Twenty-year old Cindy was a freshman at the Pratt Institute, and she had come down over winter break to stay with her grandmother, while Carol took a vacation to visit her family in Poland. She was now helping her grandmother sort through Byron's old suits. June had donated a few of them several years earlier, after Byron had passed away, but she had then put it all aside. Going over her husband's old clothes was a difficult process. Every jacket and shirt and tie reminded her of their time together.

Truth was, it was good to have a young person around, things were much livelier. Though June suspected the young woman had been tasked by her parents to further the cause of exodus from New York City.

Cindy laughed as well, but took off the hat, hanging it up on a nearby hat-rack. She held up a suit for her grandmother to examine. "What about this one?" 

"Oh," June smiled. "Your granddad and I used to go dancing with that one." She felt the jacket's fine texture. She had bought it for Byron once they started raking in the dough. He had looked so handsome in it.

But that was all a long time ago. Now the old clothes were just gathering dust up here. It was better to give them away to somebody who would use them again. Maybe take a girl dancing once more.

At Cindy's unasked question, June nodded. "That can go as well."

Cindy laid it down carefully on the "to go" pile on the couch. 

Just then Bugsy scampered in, excitedly running around the room.

"Hey, Bugsy. Come here." Cindy held out a hand towards the pug, trying to lure it closer.

But the little dog ignored her. Instead, he jumped up on the couch, intently sniffing at the clothing. He then looked up, his eyes a big question mark.

June reached out for him and he jumped into her hands. She felt his warm body, his heart beating fast. "You miss Byron too, don't you?"

Bugsy barked. She decided it was in agreement. She petted him, and then let him go again. He jumped down to the floor and went back to sniffing. "I think that's enough for today. We'll take these over to the shop tomorrow morning." 

Out on the landing, June put a hand on the banister, feeling the grain of the wood under her fingers. She really did not want to leave this house.

The little pug followed her as she came down, expertly avoiding her feet as he jumped down the stairs alongside his mistress.

She was almost at the ground floor when the doorbell rang. 

"I'll get it!" June shouted up the stairs. She opened the door and smiled in pleased surprise. 

It was the young man who had helped the FBI catch the criminals who had invaded her home. He was leaning casually against her door, making a striking figure with his long coat and smile. Bugsy came over, tail wagging. He didn't yap away at the visitor as he was usually wont to do.

"Good evening, Mrs. Ellington. I don't know if you remember-"

"Mr. Caffrey! Please, come in."

He didn't move. "I'm really sorry for barging in like this."

"Nonsense." She tilted her head as she considered him. There was something off about his demeanor.

"I just... you said if I ever needed anything..." he trailed off, unsure.

"Of course, of course. I owe you, Mr. Caffrey."

"Neal," he corrected. 

"As long as you call me June," she smiled at him. 

"Deal." He smiled back.

"Okay, Neal." She wasn't sure where this conversation was heading, and her guest wasn't moving. "Please come in, it's chilly outside."

Neal took a couple of steps in. "I really don't want to impose, I just don't have many options right now."

June frowned. "Neal, what is going on?"

"I didn't.." He took a couple more steps, unsteady on his feet. "I didn't-" And then his legs gave out under him and he crumpled. He hit the floor before June could rush to his aid.

"Oh!"

His hand was holding on tightly to his abdomen, and now she saw why. He was bleeding, his light-blue shirt was already soaked through, an ugly red blotch spreading out.

"Cindy!" June called out. "Come quick!"

She wasn't as agile as she used to be. Getting down to the floor was a difficult negotiation at her age. Bugsy looked at her, uncertain.

Cindy came down at the run. "What hap-" the words died on her lips when she caught sight of the crumpled figure on the floor, and her grandmother kneeling by his side.

"Get me a towel," June ordered.

But her granddaughter stood transfixed.

"Towel, girl!" June barked, shaking the young woman out of her shock. "In the kitchen! Now!"

Cindy nodded and hurried off to the kitchen. She quickly returned with a few towels in hand. Squatting by her grandmother, she handed her one. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure. Come here." June waited for her granddaughter to join her, hesitatingly, by Neal's prostate form. "Press here, hard."

Once Cindy took over, June fished out her phone from her pocket. Her daughters had recently gotten her a new smart phone. They were well-meaning, but she preferred her old phone, with the easy to press buttons. The one where she didn't need to jump through hoops just to place a call. Her fingers were sweaty, stained with blood. The phone refused to acknowledge her taps and swipes. She wiped her fingers on her skirt and tried again. She really missed her old phone.

"You're calling 911, Grandma?" Cindy asked.

"Yes." June answered, then hesitated. "Wait, no." She wiped her hand again, and pressed one of her speed-dials.


	2. Chapter 2

A knock on the door caused both women to jump. June put a hand on Cindy's shoulder. "I'll get it."

After negotiating the challenge of getting up, June approached the door and looked through the peephole. She then opened it a crack, enough to allow access for their visitor. It was a young woman, and June quickly moved aside to let her enter. "Kayla!" The two exchanged a quick hug. "Come in."

Bugsy raced over, excitedly wagging his tail.

"Hey, little buddy," Kayla reached down to pet his head. "Lot of excitement here today, huh?" 

The pug barked in agreement. 

She was carrying a heavy bag, which she put down next to where Neal was lying, and joined Cindy on the floor. Bugsy bedded down right next to her, his head on his paws. 

Cindy was holding a bloodied towel to Neal's abdomen, and Kayla reached for it. "Hey, Cindy. How you doing?"

Cindy merely grimaced.

"Here, let me have a look." She removed it carefully, and was relieved to find that the bleeding had stopped. "Okay, he's not bleeding right now."

June hovered above her. "Thanks for coming, Kayla"

She shot June a quick glance. "For you, Auntie June, anytime." 

Kayla turned back to examining her patient. Following her instructions over the phone, June and Cindy had pulled over a chair and put his legs up on it. In addition they covered him with a heavy blanket. It was the most they could do to forestall shock, but he was still quite pale and his breathing was shallow. 

Kayla put her fingers to his wrist and checked her watch. His pulse was weak, but steady. "How long has he been out?" 

"Twenty minutes or so. Ever since I called you," June answered. 

"Do you have any idea what happened?"

"I think he was shot."

Kayla opened her bag and grabbed a couple of latex gloves. She then rolled back the blanket and checked the wound. "Yes." She pushed Neal's body up a bit and felt underneath him. "Yeah, we've got an exit hole. He should be in a hospital, not going through backroom surgery."

"He came here because he needed help."

Kayla nodded. She saw a lot of gunshot wounds in the clinic, people who came in, knowing it won't get back to the authorities. But at least at the clinic they had a full staff and the necessary equipment. 

"Yeah, but he might be risking his life." She looked up at June. "Also, if he's a wanted man, you could get in serious trouble for this. What do you know about him, anyway?"

"This man risked his life for me, Kayla. I owe him."

Kayla sighed. 

"Please, Kayla."

Kayla could feel her defenses dropping. "Okay. But if his vitals drop, I'm dialing 911." She looked down at the man in front of her. Hopefully, it won't be too late. 

She took out a bag of saline solution. "We'll need to hang this up somehow."

"I'll get something," Cindy responded, and quickly hurried away up the stairs.

"She's too young to handle this." Kayla said to June, the minute Cindy was out of earshot.

June didn't disagree. "I didn't really have a choice, Kayla."

Kayla just shook her head. 

Cindy returned a moment later with a large hat hanger and a wire hanger. "Is this good?"

"That would work. Here." Kayla handed her the bag.

While Cindy helped hang the saline, Kayla took out a few more items from her bag - lining everything up and ensuring she had everything she needed. She then picked up a pair of scissors, and proceeded to cut through Neal's coat and shirt sleeves. She pulled the material aside, revealing Neal's arm. She wrapped a tourniquet round his arm, pulling it tightly. She then prepared a needle, which she expertly inserted into his vein, and linked him up to the saline. 

While the saline drip-dropped into Neal's veins, Kayla turned to search him.

"What are you doing?" June asked.

"Making sure he's unarmed." She ran her hands alongside his body, and down his legs. Indeed, he had no gun. Then she reached into his jacket pocket, removing his wallet.

"Kayla!" 

Kayla ignored the rebuke. The wallet contained several large-denomination bills, a few thousand dollars altogether, and a driver's license. Or rather, a few of them.

"What did you say his name was?"

"I didn't. Neal Caffrey."

Kayla looked up sharply. The name sounded familiar, though she couldn't place it. Which wasn't their only problem. "That's not what it says on this license."

She handed it over to June. The license, with Neal's smiling picture, was for "Steve Tabernacle". She shot Cindy a quick look, but her granddaughter didn't seem to be taken aback by this conversation so far. 

Just then Neal stirred and let out a low moan.

"Hey..." Kayla dropped the wallet and picked up her patient's wrist. His pulse sounded better, and the color was slowly returning to his cheeks. "You've lost a lot of blood, stay with me, okay?"

There was no reply. Kayla glanced at June with a dissatisfied frown. "He really needs to get to a hospital."

"No... no..." Neal suddenly struggled. "No hospital."

"Come on. Stay with me." 

Neal's eyes fluttered open. It took him a moment to orient himself. A flash of panic, which quickly turned into an easy smile as he focused on the cloud of black curls in front of him. "Am I..." he paused for breath, "... in heaven?"

Kayla fought the urge to roll her eyes. She dealt with so many guys like him back at the clinic. "I'm Dr. Kayla. Do you know where you are?"

Neal nodded, wincing in pain.

"What's your name?"

"Neal... Caffrey."

Kayla grabbed the ID back from June, holding it up for Neal to see. "And what do you call this?"

She watched him carefully. Despite his weakened condition, he managed to quickly hide his surprise. She could practically see his mental gears shifting, trying to figure a way out. "That... I can explain. I-"

"I'm sure you can," she cut him off. "Now, listen, Neal. Deal's like this: I'm going to treat you, and you will not lie to me. Is that clear?"

Neal nodded.

"Good. You've been shot and you've lost a lot of blood. Do you know what type of bullet it was?"

"A handgun. Glock 27. 0.40 caliber."

Kayla exchanged a look with June. That was extremely specific. The man knew his guns. "How many bullets?"

"One. I think."

"Okay, we have one exit wound. I'll check, but I think we can safely assume the bullet's out. We're giving you saline now, and then I'm going to sew up the wound. Now, listen to me, this is not the ideal situation, you got that?"

Neal sucked in his breath at a sudden wave of pain. "No hospital."

"Yeah, well, if the bullet did any serious damage, or you've got internal bleeding or anything, you're taking an awfully big risk here."

Neal didn't reply to that.

Kayla considered him for a moment. "Did you kill anybody?"

He took a steadying breath before answering: "No."

"Okay." Kayla said, mostly to herself. She didn't expect him to confess if he had, but for some reason, she believed him. 

It was preferable to move Caffrey to a bed, but there was no way they would manage to lift him up. "Okay," she repeated. "This is going to get messy. You've got some spare sheets?"

"Yes," June answered. "Cindy, can you get them? They're in the closet in the bedroom on the second floor."

Kayla watched Cindy exit and chewed her lip. "I'm going to need a lot of help here. If she freezes up-" June's granddaughter had grown up in a coddling lifestyle, nothing like what she had to deal with as a kid.

"She'll handle it," June said firmly.

"You're sure? If we'll need to call in help, this is going to be much harder to explain later."

"She won't freeze up," June repeated. The prudent choice would have been to dial for an ambulance, but as Kayla well knew, sometimes you needed to act outside the system. For both Cindy's and Neal's sakes, she hoped she wasn't making the wrong decision here.

"Okay. I'll need a big bowl of water and lots more fresh towels."

"I'll get it," June hurried out to the kitchen.

Finally, Kayla turned to Neal. "I've only got local anesthetic here. And, as I said-"

She could see Neal work his jaw muscles. "No hospital. Please."

"Yeah.." Kayla muttered. "I think I got that."

****

The Paradise Motel was a dingy and dumpy place on its best days, and the yellow police tape marking off the building did nothing to enhance its image.

Special Agent Ruiz parked his car outside, giving the place a distasteful glance as he got out. 

He had brought his probie, Mclaughlin, for this trip. "He certainly found a place to get offed, didn't he?" Ruiz asked him. The early morning air was chilly, and his breath left a small cloud behind.

The junior agent just smiled in response.

Ruiz clipped his badge to his jacket. "FBI!" he called as he pushed his way past several police officers and into the motel.

They barely glanced at it as they waved the two agents in.

Inside, by the check-in counter, they met an elderly man arguing with a police detective.

"You're ruining my business!" shouted the man, who was, apparently, the motel manager. "This is the second time in the past month you're closing me down!"

"It would help if your customers won't drop like flies," the detective replied calmly.

The manager looked positively offended. "Yeah, well, wasn't my fault."

"I'm sure. It just... happens, right?"

The detective noticed the two FBI agents, and waved off the motel manager, who shouted something about contacting an higher-up, and stomped off into his office. 

"Special Agents Ruiz and Mclaughlin," Ruiz made the introductions.

"Detective Kim," the police detective responded. He looked like a seasoned veteran of the corps, with a graying, receding hairline to match. "Here, put these on." He handed them both plastic booties and gloves.

The two agents followed the directives, and followed the detective up two floors and down a dimly lit hallway. Finally, the detective stopped before one of the rooms. A police tape marked the door, which was open. "Here we are," he announced.

"What do we have here?" Ruiz asked.

The room was small with a small bathroom off to the left side. A bed took up a large part of the room, not leaving much space for the forensics team, who was busy photographing the scene and picking up evidence. Little numbered flags were placed all over the place, marking off whatever they had found. 

Right by the door, slumped against the wall in an ungainly posture, was a body. Male, middle-aged, with a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. 

Ruiz glanced down at him. He had seen too many bodies to be shocked. Or care. In fact, looking at the body, he felt a sense of relief. He had been led to believe that the victim was Caffrey. It would have been disappointing to end the chase this way. "Clean shot. You have an ID?"

"Yeah. Name's Dominique Stamper. He's been on our radar for a while now, suspected of fencing stolen art. Never had enough to bring him in, though." The detective made a vague gesture around. "Until now. He rented the room for the night. Somebody heard shooting and called 911, but it took time to figure out where it was coming from."

"Conscientious citizen," Ruiz observed.

"Yeah. One call, out of who knows how many who heard the shots. The manager here was of course extremely unhelpful." He sounded resigned to the situation.

Shards of colored ceramic were spread out around the body. Ruiz knelt down to examine them. He picked one up and turned it over. The shards were all that remained of an ancient Ming vase, six hundred years old.

"You're lucky," Kim said. "One of our forensics techs immediately recognized this from your BOLO. I've got to say, it took a bit of-" 

"Imagination?" Ruiz supplied.

"Yeah." 

"Yeah." The FBI agent wasn't sure _he'd_ have recognized the vase in its current condition. "I'm after the perp who stole this. Guy by the name of Neal Caffrey." Ruiz got up. 

The detective pointed out blood streaks on the door. "These are most probably not from the victim, but we'll have results soon. The fatal shot was fired from over there." He pointed across the bed to the other side of the room. 

Ruiz looked at the bed, it looked like a mess. "Looks like a struggle over here."

"Yeah, and there's shots fired all over the place." Kim waved a hand around. "We got three bullets out of the ceiling, ten more from the walls."

Ruiz looked at the body. "Okay, so let's say they met here for a deal, it went bad, they get into a fight, Caffrey shoots Stamper. You found the money?"

"Nope, just what you see here. The manager says he hadn't touched anything."

The FBI agent looked at him curiously. "You don't believe him."

"Do you?"

Ruiz merely snorted in reply. 

Kim continued. "We questioned everybody in the hotel. At least those who were still around. Nobody saw anything."

"Of course they wouldn't. What about the people who checked out over the past 24 hours? They should be questioned too."

"We'll get to them."

"What about the gun? You've located it?"

"Not yet. We assume the shooter took it with him."

"You should search the area. He might have gotten rid of it."

The NYPD detective was getting tired of being told how to do his job. "That's very unlikely."

"Caffrey - maybe he's wounded, on the run, he wouldn't want to be found with a murder weapon." 

"Look, you want to look for it, I'm not going to stop you."

Ruiz wasn't going to argue this point. "I want every piece of evidence shipped over to the FBI."

Too late, Kim realized he'd made a mistake. "Wait a sec-"

"I'm taking over the investigation." This was way too important to leave up to the NYPD.

As they were leaving, Ruiz's probie said, "Caffrey has never shot anybody before." 

"No... it's not his MO," Ruiz agreed.

"What if he wasn't here?" Mclaughlin theorized. "The fence might have been meeting his buyer."

"Oh, no. He's definitely connected to this, somehow," Ruiz said. "Besides, right now, I don't care how I'm bringing him down."


	3. Chapter 3

Ruiz's team turned a few heads as they made their way into the Gansevoort hotel just before dawn. They were all wearing helmets and bullet-proof vests, their guns at the ready. 

Ruiz instructed his agents to take positions by the revolving door at the entrance. He already had people placed around the building, covering the service exists.

He was met halfway across the lobby by the night-time hotel manager, who had hurried towards them the minute he saw the FBI team at the door. He was a young man who was climbing his way up the ladder, and was not interested in having anything untoward happen on his shift. "What is this about?"

"Agent Ruiz. FBI." Ruiz produced his badge. "We've got a search warrant for the residence of Neal Caffrey."

The manager glanced through the official form that was thrust in his face. "I'll have to confirm this."

"Yes, you do that. Meanwhile, the hotel is under lockdown."

"You can't do that!"

"Watch me."

The manager quickly lost the staring contest that ensued. "I'll get his room number."

Caffrey had a penthouse suite. After placing agents around the stairwells and by the elevators, Ruiz crowded with a small team inside an elevator. The manager crowded in with them. 

"We're a respectable hotel, Agent Ruiz. Can you please try to be a little more discrete?"

"You wanted discrete, you should have thought of that before renting out to an international art-thief," Ruiz snapped at him.

The manager kept his mouth shut. 

Once the elevator dinged on the top floor, he exited first and led the FBI agents to the room in question. Producing a key card, he handed it over to Ruiz. "It's here."

"On the count of three," Ruiz said, holding up three fingers. "One, two... " 

They burst through the door, weapons at the ready. "FBI!"

The agents quickly spread out though the suite, calling out as they swept the rooms. "Clear! Clear!"

The suite was empty. Ruiz holstered his gun. 

The manager had stayed outside, and now Ruiz practically dragged him into the suite. "Was Caffrey here last night?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. We don't follow our guests."

Ruiz chuckled at that. "I need your security camera footage."

"Of course."

"What about housekeeping? When did they come in here?"

"I'll check their schedule."

"You do that."

Ruiz left the manager to take care of matters, while he made his way up to the bedroom on the second floor. The bed was nicely made, with a little chocolate heart left on the pillow. It seemed that Caffrey hadn't been in bed since housekeeping went through the morning previously. 

The closets were full of clothes, the attached bathroom had various toiletries spread out. Caffrey was a man who put effort into his outward appearance. The place didn't look like it had been cleared out in a hurry.

Ruiz doubted he'd find anything here. Caffrey was smart and wouldn't keep incriminating evidence in his hotel room. But, regardless, this was not an opportunity to be missed. "I want everything here bagged and tagged," he announced to his team.

*****

  
In the darkness of the Burkes bedroom, a phone rang. Peter's hand shot out, grabbing wildly for it. He could hear something crashing before his hand closed on the device. "Burke," he croaked. Then tried again. "Yeah?"

"Peter, this is Jones. I'm sorry to wake you up-"

Peter glanced at his bedside clock. It blinked back "06:37".

"- but Hughes wants everybody in the office. Caffrey's on the run."

" _Neal_ Caffrey?" Peter asked, even though there could be no other.

"The one and only," he could hear Clinton's smile. "He's now a murder suspect."

Peter frowned, so many questions at the tip of his tongue. "I'll be right there."

By his side, El made a sound. "Hon?"

He leaned in to kiss her. "I've got to go."

There was no response. She was already fast asleep.

*****

  
When Peter pushed open the office doors, there was already a gaggle of half-awake agents waiting for him in the break area, gathered round a freshly brewed pot of coffee.

"Peter!" Hughes called out from the office area, giving him the two-fingered 'get over here' motion.

Hughes gave the order the minute Peter approached him: "Find Caffrey."

Peter had seen the BOLO Ruiz put out for Caffrey. "He's wanted for murder?" he asked his boss. "Are we sure?"

"We've got his his fingerprints all over a murder scene, and-" Peter tried to say something, but Hughes continued on, " _and_ he's on the run. Not exactly the innocent thing to do, is it?"

"No." Peter acceded. "But Caffrey never uses guns."

"People change, Peter. Caffrey spent four years in a supermax."

"Yeah, but-"

Hughes put up a hand. "Right now, he's a suspect in a murder case. You're our Caffrey expert, Peter. I want you to put every available agent on this case and I want him found ASAP."

Peter nodded. "We'll find him."

"Ruiz is leading the investigation. I already spoke to him, he'll send over everything he's got."

"He said that?" the surprise was evident in Peter's voice.

Hughes met his agent's gaze. "This is a murder investigation. Whatever issues you two got between you, you're going to put them aside and focus on the case. I trust that you can do that?"

"Of course."

"Good. Now, let's get this show on the road. We've got a criminal to catch."

*****

Half an hour later, Peter called a meeting.

He looked around the room at the expectant faces of his agents. Hughes was also there, emphasizing to everybody by his presence that this was a top priority. "As I'm sure you've all heard by now, Neal Caffrey is now a wanted man."

After a cup of coffee, and reviewing the files that Ruiz had sent over, he was now far less sure that Neal had not murdered anybody. Though he still found it hard to believe that Neal had come into that motel room with murder in mind.

He started the short PowerPoint presentation he'd put together. A scowling face appeared on the screen, taken from a mug shot. "This is Dominique 'Stamp' Stamper, 47, fences in ancient art. He's been on our radar the past few years. He was murdered last night at the Paradise Motel." 

He moved on to the next slide - an ancient Chinese vase. "This vase was found next to the body, shattered to pieces. It was stolen from the Chinese Consul's residency two weeks ago. The crime fit Caffrey's MO, but NYPD found no forensics to prove it."

The next slide was Neal's mug shot. "Neal Caffrey. Conman and forger, aged 35. Released from prison almost three years ago, he's been the prime suspect in over forty crimes since, but he's never been charged. This might be our chance to nail him."

Peter moved on to a slide from the murder scene. "Caffrey's fingerprints and DNA were found all over the room. According to forensics, he's most probably injured-" Peter stopped at a raised hand. "Yeah?"

"He's the murder suspect?" Huber asked. He was one of his newer agents.

Peter paused, but then nodded. "Yes, he is. He's gone underground and is considered armed and dangerous. Everybody is looking for him right now. Ports, trains, roadblocks - they've got it all covered. But Caffrey's smart. If we're going to catch him, we need to be smart too. Caffrey's not gonna show up where everybody's looking for him."

A chorus of nods followed that.

Diana caught Peter's attention. "Last time, we caught him using his girlfriend. Does he have anybody now?"

"Not that we know. There's a warrant for Kate Moreau's arrest, but she's disappeared, probably to some part of the world that has no extradition treaty. Caffrey might know where she is, and as far as we know, he still adores her, but they're not together."

"What about his partner?" asked Jones. At the sudden quiet in the room, he glanced around at the other agents. "His business partner. He has one, doesn't he?"

Peter exhaled slowly. "Most probably, but we have no idea who it is."

"So, first things first," Peter continued, "I want everybody to check with their CIs. Caffrey's been shot and he needed to get out quickly... It's quite likely he hit on his contacts for help. If Caffrey's hiding in New York, somebody's going to know about it. It's also possible that he didn't manage to get out, which means he's still in the area." 

Agent Ann Mercia shook her head. "There's no way he would stay around here."

"Maybe," Peter agreed. "In any case, NYPD are dispatching forces to search all around the hotel." 

Peter waited to see if there were any more questions. There were none.

"Right. So, let's split up into teams. Jones, you take Benjamin, Huber and Lopez. I want you to check all his known hideouts." The White Collar team had painstakingly prepared a list of all such possible locations, but they had waited patiently for the right moment to strike.

Jones touched a finger to his forehead in mock salute.

"Blois, you take Frye and Mercia. Dig into the files and compile a report on Stamper's history with Caffrey. I want to understand what went down. They might have a friend in common who was involved."

The agent nodded. 

"Diana, you're with me. We're going to check out the murder scene, see what we can pick up that Ruiz or the NYPD might have missed."

He looked around the table. "Anything else?"

No hands were raised.

"Then let's get to work, people."

Peter waited for his team to file out. The game was on.

*****

Neal slowly came to, the room around him coming into focus. He was laying on a bed in a small studio apartment. Large glass doors leading out to a patio featuring a breath-taking view of the New York skyline. Though it might have been the pain that was taking his breath away.

He could not remember where he was or how he got here. The last thing he did remember was going to a meet to sell off the Ming vase. It must have been last night, as sunlight was already pouring in through the windows.

He winced as he sat up,a throbbing pain in his chest. He looked down to discover that it was taped up with a bandage. 

Vague details started assembling themselves in his memory. He'd been shot. He'd been ambushed. 

Two women were sleeping in armchairs nearby, mugs of now-cold coffee on the small table between them. One of them was June Ellington. He remembered June from the time he'd helped the FBI. A little pug was sleeping in her arms. The dog opened its eyes at Neal, yawned and went back to sleep. The other woman, a much younger woman, seemed familiar somehow, but Neal couldn't quite place her. 

So this must be the Ellington Mansion. He still wasn't sure how he got here, but he knew he had to get out.

Very slowly he got up, still holding on to the bed as he took a careful step, gauging whether he could hold his own weight. 

He shivered. He was missing his shirt, and his shoes. He couldn't see them anywhere. 

Noticing a small armoire by the bed, he reached out to open it. But it was empty. 

Neal took a few more steps, reaching a kitchen table, where he stopped to get his breath. At this rate, he wasn't going to get anywhere.

Looking around, he took stock of his surroundings. It was a small enough place that he could see it all from here. A door, apparently leading out, was on his right, and another door was to his left. 

Then he saw the pile of suits on the couch.

The clothing wasn't a smooth fit as his custom made suits, but they were more or less his size. Neal chose himself a shirt and a jacket. On the floor there was a line of old shoes. Finding it hard to bend over, he shoved his feet into a pair.

He checked himself in the full-length mirror hanging on the side wall, and even managed a quick smile. Not too bad.

He noticed an old fedora hanging on a nearby hat hanger. He set it on his head, and checked the result in the mirror. Much better.

Going back towards the bed, he found a bag on the coffee table, filled with medical supplies. 

The younger woman stretched. Neal froze, but the woman just turned and continued sleeping.

Stifling a sigh of relief, Neal quickly looked through the bag. He grabbed a packet of over-the-counter painkillers, a bottle of antibiotics, and a roll of bandages, which he stuffed into his jacket pockets. He popped two painkiller pills right away, just to be on the safe side.

Now, to get out of here.

Approaching the door, he opened it carefully, and listened for a few moments. It all seemed quiet.

There was an elevator there, but he was afraid it would make too much noise, so he opted for the stairs. Slowly, he made his way down. He almost got to the next floor when he heard a young voice calling up. "Grandma! Are you up there?"

He managed to close the distance to the landing, and slip through a door before the owner of the voice arrived. He had kept the door partially open, and soon he saw a girl climbing up the stairs. She stopped at the landing.

"Grandma!" she called again, leaning up the staircase. She waited a few beats and then, with a soft sigh, she continued up.

The minute she disappeared up the stairs, he continued making his way down to the ground floor, as fast as he could. His chest was on fire, and his muscles were aching and screaming for mercy. At some point he slipped and almost lost his footing. But he didn't dare stop. 

At the front door, he grabbed a set of car keys, which were conveniently hanging on a key rack. There was no way he was going to get far by foot in his state. 

Outside, there was another set of stairs. He looked up and down the street, taking a moment to catch his breath. The keys were for a Volkswagen, but he couldn't see any. As Mozzie used to say, every plan was the basis for a new plan. He'd just have to jack a car.

But he'd barely gotten down the steps and started down the street, when another variable entered his plans. A police car rounded the corner, driving slowly up towards him.

He hesitated. If he continued, they might stop him, but if he turned around, he would just draw extra attention to himself. Neal slipped the fedora low over his head, and steeled himself. He didn't have much choice, he'd have to risk it.


	4. Chapter 4

Kayla was dreaming of lying on a sunny, sandy beach, and doing absolutely nothing, when she was rudely shaken awake. She opened her eyes to see Cindy standing over her, shouting her name.

"Kayla! Wake up!" Cindy shook the older woman urgently. "That man is gone!"

"What ma-" Kayla stopped short as the events of last night came flooding back. A quick glance towards the bed showed her it was empty. "Shit!"

She jumped up, going from 0 to 100, and immediately regretted the abrupt move. Her muscles had frozen stiff during the night. Within minutes she finished a quick search of the apartment. No Neal Caffrey anywhere.

She came back to the main room, wondering where he could have disappeared to. He might have wandered out of the apartment. 

June was already stirring awake. "Cindy?"

"Auntie June, Neal Caffrey's gone. I'll be right back."

He couldn't have gotten far, not in his condition. Kayla quick barreled through the entire house, all three floors of it, shouting Neal's name. Nothing.

Where could he have gone?

Going out into the street, she looked up and down. And there he was - walking slowly down the street. She noted the approaching police car, and reacted instinctively.

"Steve!" she called out. "Wait!"

Neal was forcing himself not to look towards the approaching cruiser, when he heard somebody call out behind him. He turned around, and saw the young woman from upstairs.

She ran down the steps. "Wait!"

She closed the distance between them. They didn't have much time before the cruiser could ID Neal. She grabbed his jacket, and pulled him in for a long kiss. It took Neal just a second to respond. 

She finally pushed him away, and he grinned at her. "Wow."

The police car had continued past them.

But Kayla had her eyes on something else. She grabbed his hand, and yanked the car keys from his fingers. "What's this?"

*****

Kayla frog-marched Neal back into the house. "Look what I found!" she shouted out, then pushed Neal into a nearby armchair. 

Neal tried again. "I can explain-"

"I'm sure you can," Kayla cut him off. 

June and Cindy soon came down the stairs. 

"Oh!" The concerned frown on June's face quickly replaced with a smile of relief. "You found him!"

"This lowlife thief tried to steal your car." Kayla held up the keys.

"It wasn't like that..." Neal protested. "I-"

"Yeah, we know exactly what it was like. Where'd you get that jacket from?"

June spoke up, before Neal could formulate an answer. "It was Byron's."

Kayla shot a stink-eye at Neal. "Unbelievable."

"I would have brought it back," Neal appealed to June.

"Cindy," Kayla turned to June's granddaughter. "Can you run upstairs and get me my bag?"

Cindy nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

Kayla turned back to her patient. "You should be resting and letting your body recuperate, not running around."

Neal glanced at June. "That's a little difficult at the moment." Before anybody would ask him about the how and why, he continued, "Thanks for helping me out back there."

Kayla just shook her head. 

Cindy soon came back with Kayla's medical bag. She handed it over to the thankful doctor, at which time June gave the two some space, and suggested she and Cindy start up some breakfast.

As the two other women exited, Kayla grabbed a couple of latex gloves from her bag, and kneeled by her patient. "Lift up your shirt."

Neal grinned. "The straightforward type, aren't we?" 

The doctor gave him a scathing look. She helped him undo the buttons, and then moved his shirt aside. Gently, she removed the bandage from his chest. Neal bit his lip at the pain.

"You remember what happened last night?"

"Generally."

She shot him a quick glance, then turned back to tending to his injuries. "You were shot. Does that ring a bell?"

Neal winced. "Yep."

"Why did you come here, Neal?"

Neal wasn't sure how to answer that. He didn't actually remember. "I guess I didn't have much of a choice."

"You always have a choice."

A few more moments passed in quiet, before she continued. "June is a very special woman. She's got a big heart, and a soft spot for hard-luck cases. She doesn't owe you anything."

"I never said she did."

Kayla scoffed. June obviously thought she owed him something. "You hurt her, and I swear, I'll-"

"I won't do anything to hurt June," Neal hurried to assure her.

"Really? What do you call stealing her late husband's clothing?"

"That's-"

"Or her car?"

"Borrowing. I would have returned everything."

"Right." She turned to her bag to retrieve a new bandage. "I should have handed you over to the police."

"Why didn't you?" 

She was quiet for a few beats. "I guess I also have a soft spot for hard-luck cases."

She finished putting on the bandage, and put down his shirt.

"Here," she handed him two pills. "Take these."

Neal took the pills from her. "What are these for?"

"No questions."

"I already took two painkillers this morning, so-"

"So you stole pills from me as well," Kayla supplied.

This was like a police interrogation. Everything he said, was used against him. "No, I-"

But Kayla had no time for Neal's excuses. "Swallow!"

Neal did as he was told.

"Stay here and don't move."

"You got it," Neal readily agreed with a quick smile. He was tired of being told what to do, but Kayla did just save his ass, and truth was, he was too tired to move, and the armchair was a comfortable one.

"Good. I'll check up on you later."

Kayla found June and Cindy in the kitchen. June was scrambling up eggs. Cindy was setting the table for breakfast.

"How's the patient?" June asked.

"Cheeky."

June laughed. "And how is he doing?"

"Better. But that little stunt of his didn't help. I gave him a couple of sleeping pills, so that should keep him put for a few hours." At June's questioning glance, she added, "It was either that or tying him to the sofa. Look, Auntie June, I know you want to help him, but-"

"But he's dangerous?" June supplied.

"He's obviously wanted by the police."

"Remind you of anybody?"

Kayla pursed her lips. "He's a conman, and he's up to no good."

June gave Cindy a quick glance. "So was Byron."

"Byron was different," Kayla insisted. "We have no idea what happened and how he got shot. Whatever it was, it-" 

"Let's take this one step at a time. Okay, Kayla? Right now, he needs our help."

Kayla hesitated, but then nodded. "Okay."

Just then, somebody ran the doorbell. This was followed by insistent knocking. "NYPD!"

Exchanging a glance, the women hurried back towards the entrance room. Neal was dozing off in the armchair. He barely stirred when Kayla threw an afghan over him.

June walked up to the door, and waited for a nod from Kayla before she opened it just a crack. "Hello!"

Two officers stood outside.

"Good morning, Ma'am. We're looking for this man." The officer held up a mug shot of Neal. "Have you seen him?"

June made a show of peering at the picture. "No. I'm afraid not."

"If you do, please call 911 immediately, he might be armed and dangerous."

"Of course, officer."

"Have a good day, Ma'am."

June closed the door, and turned around to find Kayla looking at her with a concerned frown of her own.

*****

Peter started his search for Neal by going down with Diana to the murder scene.

The place was unsecured, with just police tape on the door to mark the place as off-limits. The two FBI agents simply walked in. 

The evidence team had taken everything they could, and took pictures of everything else. But the place still reeked of the drama that had taken place that night: bullet holes, blood stains and little, cheery, yellow evidence signs.

Peter looked around with a mixture of surprise and dismay. "What a dump."

"Not one of Caffrey's usual hangouts?" Diana asked.

"No, definitely not." Peter shook his head and got down to business. "According to the police report, the body was found right here." Right by the entrance.

The body had long been removed, and a series of chalk marks marked where it had fallen. 

Peter walked around the bed. "And he was shot from here." He raised a hand as if he was holding a gun and considered the situation. "Why would Caffrey shoot him from over here?"

Diana looked down at the police report. "There was a struggle on the bed, and they found casings and bullet holes all over the place." She looked up, at the evidence marks on the ceiling. Peter's gaze followed Diana's, then he turned to the bed, leaning down to examine it. 

The bed cover had been removed by forensics. The sheets were crumpled, but they had most likely been touched since the murder. 

"So Caffrey and Stamper struggle on the bed-" Peter said.

"With a gun," Diana added.

"Hm. Caffrey doesn't usually carry a gun."

"Maybe he did this time. Or maybe it was Stamper's gun."

"Okay." Peter nodded. "So Stamper brings a gun to the meet. Maybe it's an ambush, or maybe something goes wrong, and he pulls it out."

"Yeah. And then they struggle, and Caffrey ends up with the gun in his hands."

"And then he shoots Stamper." Peter once again looked towards where the body had fallen. It didn't make sense. Maybe Neal had felt cornered? Stamper had been standing right between him and the exit. But on the other hand... he was holding a gun. He could have used it to get Stamper to move.

Maybe Hughes was right. Maybe four years in prison had changed Neal. He hadn't seen any evidence of violent behavior, but that didn't mean it wasn't there, under the surface, waiting for the right moment to manifest itself. 

Diana glanced back at the police report. "Police found Caffrey's blood on the sheets, as well as on the door."

"He was shot too."

"He was shot first," Diana pointed out. "Stamper was killed with one, clean shot." She'd seen the pictures. One of them was stapled to the report. Stamper had been killed with a bullet to the head. There was no way that bullet was meant to hit anywhere else. "Caffrey's a good shot?"

"I have no idea." Peter crossed the distance back to where Stamper had fallen. The carpet had been stained with Stamper's blood, and there were still tiny bits of ceramic on the carpeting. "Stamper was holding the vase when he was shot."

"Maybe he'd picked it up."

"Tried to fend off Caffrey?" Peter ran a hand through his hair. "See... that's something else that doesn't make sense. Caffrey wouldn't destroy an ancient vase like that." Neal had a lot of respect for art.

"Maybe he thought his life was in danger?" Diana shrugged.

" _Was_ his life in danger?" He was holding a gun on the man, and Stamper was holding a vase. 

"Well, ME says he lost a lot of blood. Maybe he had to get out quickly. And damn the vase."

"Maybe." Peter still wasn't convinced.

He checked the door. It looked like Neal had put a bloodied hand on the door frame. Maybe he stood here to look over the room before he fled? Stamper was dead. Was he looking at the body? At the scene of chaos he was leaving behind? Peter wished he could get inside the young man's head and know what he had been thinking.

*****

Peter and Diana were outside the motel. 

Peter was continuing his reconstruction of Neal's actions. "Caffrey runs out. He'd just killed somebody, and he's injured, where would he go?"

"Maybe he had somebody waiting for him," Diana said, "or he called a friend."

"Yeah, he could be anywhere." Peter looked around. It was a dumpy place, and a dumpy neighborhood. Neal would have put as much distance as he could between himself and this place. Emphasis on "could". "But we know he lost a lot of blood. He didn't have a lot of time."

"Hm." Diana checked her phone. "There's a couple of walk-in clinics in the area. There's one half a block away."

"So maybe he finds this clinic, asks for help," Peter theorized.

Diana nodded. "NYPD will probably be paying them a visit. I'll check their reports."

"With all due respect to the NYPD.... I think we should stop by there as well. We should try and catch the end of the night-shift, they're the most likely to know if something's happened."

*****

Back in the White Collar offices, Julia Blois caught up with Peter as he was heading for his office.

"Peter, you have a minute?" The agent asked.

"Sure." Peter motioned the agent to join him. 

Once he entered his office, he round his desk in order to sit, and gestured at the guest chair. "What did you find?" He had asked her to go over the Stamper and Caffrey files, and find out anything they could about how those two were connected.

"We reviewed all the files. But there's something weird about those two."

"They don't run in the same circles?" Peter was surprised.

"Exactly the opposite. I sent you a mail with the list."

Peter turned to his computer and clicked on the email. The attached excel contained about a dozen names.

"That's from a first run-through of the files, going back to Caffrey's release," Blois added in explanation. "All the people we could connect to both of them. We'll do further research and see who else we can pick up."

"I want them all interrogated. See what they know about Caffrey and Stamper."

Blois nodded. "We're working on that. But what's interesting, is that we didn't find much connection between Caffrey and Stamper themselves."

"What do you mean?"

"Stamper came from Montreal. RCMP arrested him a about six years ago for transporting stolen goods. He served 18 months. After that he moved to New York, and supposedly got busy here."

"Caffrey was in jail then."

"Right. So that's the thing. Ever since Stamper's come down here, they don't show up together. None of Caffrey's files mention Stamper, and vice versa."

"That doesn't mean they weren't in touch," Peter pointed out.

"True," his agent agreed. "But they've got quite a few secondary connections. And we know that they have been in touch before. About eight years ago, RCMP got a tip placing Caffrey up around Montreal. He managed to escape before authorities got to him." She looked down at her notes. "He was suspected of selling Thai art... an illustrated manuscript page. Stamper was the suspected fence."

"That manuscript... that was Caffrey's work?"

"So we assume. RCMP didn't manage to lay hands on it."

"Hm. So let's say Stamper and Caffrey go way back, but they haven't been in touch since Caffrey's been out of jail. Why did he suddenly get in touch with Stamper now? And why does Stamper end up dead?"


	5. Chapter 5

Neal slowly came to, the room around him coming into focus. He was laying on a bed in a small studio apartment. He was at June's.

The dark city sky outside showed him it was already late at night. The doors were open, letting in a light breeze, and the eternal sounds of city traffic.

Nobody was sleeping by his bedside this time. At first he thought he thought he was alone. It was only once he sat up, that he noticed a figure in the shadows, outside on the veranda, sitting by the round table. 

He got up, quietly. His naked feet not making a noise as he slowly padded towards the open doors. Before he left the safety of 'his' apartment, he looked around for a weapon, and grabbed the first thing he saw - a baseball bat lying against the wall.

Ever so slowly, he approached the figure. Another step, then another. He held his bat at the ready. 

And then, in the moonlight, he realized the small, plumpish figure was a familiar one.

"Moz?" he asked, surprised. A big smile spread across his face.

Mozzie was sitting there, wearing a long, tan raincoat, a fedora hiding his features.

Mozzie looked up at him with a quick smile. "Neal! you're alive."

Neal felt the weight of his bat, and carefully put it down by the table, where he joined his friend.

"How did you get here?"

Mozzie chuckled. "You needed help, you think I wouldn't come?"

"Yeah, but how did you get in?"

"You're worrying too much, Neal." Mozzie nodded towards the little apartment. "You got yourself quite the digs."

Neal followed his glance. "Yeah... it's temporary."

"You always fall on your feet."

Neal thought about what happened, everything he had told Mozzie last time they spoke. 

Mozzie had been his friend, his partner, his confidante, almost from the time had had come to New York. A chance meeting in the park had cemented their friendship. It had been a wild ride since. 

When he was on the run, he knew that he could always turn to Mozzie. The older conman had saved his ass countless times.

But that last time... after Moz had called the FBI on him. His rage exploded. The last thing he said to Moz, was that they were through.

Now, Neal looked at his friend. "You know... what I said back then?"

"Neal, you don't-"

But Neal insisted on finishing the sentence. "I didn't mean it."

Mozzie looked at him. "Yes, you did."

"I-"

"I know. Look, I'm here now. What do you need?"

"I need to get out of here. The police are out looking for me."

"Remember the island?" Mozzie said. It had been the object of their long con on Adler, so many years previously. "It's waiting. Once you're able to make it, we'll go."

Go. The word echoed in his mind.

Go. Go. Go.

*****

"Go."

Neal's eyes fluttered open. He was lying in an armchair, in June's house. For a moment, he just stared out, gathering his wits, still partially immersed in his dream. 

When he looked to the side, he saw a young girl. He recognized her - she was the one he had seen going up the stairs. She was sitting in a reclining chair, reading a book. She looked up at him when she noticed him stirring.

He smiled at her. "Good morning," he tried.

She laughed. "More like 'good afternoon'."

"How long was I out?"

"A few hours?" She shrugged, unsure. "You gave my grandma a fright."

So this was June's granddaughter.

"So you're here to... " he paused, unsure how to ask the question. 

"To make sure you don't do anything stupid."

"I see."

He felt the bandaged area of his chest. It wasn't hurting as much now. 

He had so many questions. He had come here, because he didn't know where else to go. But how long could he trust June to keep him here? Even if he could trust June, could he trust her granddaughter? Or that spunky doctor she'd brought?

Cindy looked at him curiously. "How _do_ you know my grandma?" 

"Oh, well..." Neal had no idea how much she knew, "I was helping the FBI, there was this group of criminals who-"

" _You_ were helping the FBI." Cindy narrowed her eyes.

"Is that so unbelievable?"

She shrugged. "I thought you were hiding from the police."

Neal put on a grin. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I was here last night, when you almost dropped dead right there." She pointed over to the entrance.

Neal realized there was no use pretending. "It's a long story. But I was helping the FBI when I met your grandma."

Cindy thought that over, and Neal used the opportunity to change the subject. "That doctor... Kayla?"

Cindy nodded. 

"She's a cousin of yours?"

Now it was Cindy's turn to hesitate. "She's... sort of."

"Cindy..." June walked in, stopping when she saw the young man was up. "Oh, you're awake."

Neal struggled to get up, but quickly gave up. "I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

June didn't respond directly, instead she turned to her granddaughter, "Cindy, I just warmed up some of the soup, can you bring Neal a bowl?"

"There's no need-" Neal started.

But June cut him off. "You haven't eaten all day. You need to keep your strength up." She turned to her granddaughter with an unspoken command.

Cindy nodded, putting down the book on a nearby coffee table, and hurried off. 

Truth was, Neal _was_ hungry. He hadn't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon.

After her granddaughter went for the food, June sat by Neal. "Where did you plan to go?"

The question caught Neal unawares. "I.. I don't know." He hadn't thought that far.

"You're in no condition to be on your feet, Neal, let alone on the run."

"June, I don't want to cause you too much trouble."

"Let me decide what's too much trouble." She eyed Neal. "But we do have a few house rules: You don't lie to me, you don't steal from me."

"Of course," Neal hurriedly agreed. 

June wasn't naive. She knew Neal was used to saying what people wanted him to. "Kayla can be a little over-protective of me, but you're safe here."

Neal hadn't expected that. "I-"

He stopped, as Cindy returned with a hot bowl of soup on a tray. She put it down on the coffee table, within reach of their patient. All of Neal's reservations about this not being necessary dissipated at the tantalizing smell and meat, beans and vegetables.

June got up to leave. "Enjoy the soup." She paused. "You know... That suit, it looks good on you. Reminds me of the olden days."

Once June left, Neal carefully leaned towards the soup, and took a spoonful. It was indeed good.

He glanced at Cindy, who had made herself comfortable again. "You're going to keep watching me?"

She smiled. "Somebody's got to do it."

"Right..." He managed another spoonful, then gestured with it at her book. "You're studying the Romantics?" 

"Oh, yeah." She closed the cover and looked at it. "It's for a class I'm taking."

"Really? You're studying art?"

She nodded. "At Pratt Institute. You know it?"

"Quite well, actually." Neal had spent a lot of time there, thought not in any official capacity. "So, what's your major?"

*****

Peter was in his office when the phone range. It was Clinton. "You found something?"

"Not what I expected," Clinton answered. "We checked a few places, they were almost empty. I mean, completely empty. But this place... it looks like a Buddhist shrine of something."

"A what?" Peter frowned.

"A Buddhist shrine. There's little pillows all over, to sit and meditate."

"Pillows." 

"Yeah, and there's fountains, with real fish. Somebody's taking care of the place."

Peter considered that for a long moment. "Put surveillance on it, see if anybody shows up."

*****

"Boss?" Ruiz looked up from his work. One of his underlings was standing at his office door. "He's here."

There were a few ways Caffrey could have arrived at the motel. Ruiz reasoned that Neal wouldn't have taken public transport, let alone walked the streets, with the expensive vase in hand, which left either a car or taxi.

Ruiz's team had checked all the taxi companies in New York City, hoping to find a taxi driver who'd driven Caffrey to the Paradise Motel. They lucked out.

The agent filled in Ruiz on the details on the way to the bullpen. "Name's Ali Rahman, says he drove Caffrey last night."

The taxi-driver was sitting next to one of the desks, but quickly got up when the group approached him. 

"Agent Ruiz," the FBI agent introduced himself, shaking hands with the other man. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course. I don't want any trouble." He was flexing his fingers anxiously.

Ruiz put on his best calming smile. "You're not going to be in trouble. If you tell us everything that happened that night."

"Of course, I've got nothing to hide." The man said, and Ruiz knew that he definitely had something to hide. Though, right now, long as it didn't impact his case, he didn't care. 

Ruiz produced a picture of a smiling Neal. "Is this the guy you picked two nights ago?"

The taxi-driver leaned-in to take a closer look. "Yeah. Picked him up in Sheepshead Bay. He was carrying a large case." He approximated the size with his hands. Ruiz figured the vase would have fit comfortably inside. "Told me it won't take long and that he'll pay me two hundred if I wait for him outside until he finishes."

"That's a lot of cash. You didn't suspect anything?"

The man shrugged. "It's not a good neighborhood, and I don't ask questions."

"Okay. So then what happened?"

"He walks in, and five minutes later, I hear shooting. Lots of shooting. Like, from a gun. Bang, bang, bang, bang."

Ruiz waited for the man to continue. When that didn't happen, he prompted him. "And?"

"I took off."

"So you didn't wait for him?"

The man looked at Ruiz, then at the other agents standing around. "I didn't know- there was shooting, and-"

"It's okay. You were scared."

"Yeah." The man agreed, relieved that the Fed understood him.

Back in the conference room, surrounded by his team, Ruiz pointed at a big map of New York City on the wall. The murder site was marked with a red thumbtack. Caffrey's hotel, the Gansevoort, was marked with a green thumbtack. Both sites were in Manhattan.

"The taxi picked him up here." Ruiz put a yellow tack to mark the spot in southern Brooklyn.

It was nowhere near the other two points. Ruiz suspected that's where Caffrey picked up the package. Which meant he might have a warehouse somewhere. At some point, once he found Caffrey and things had calmed down, he was going to investigate every storage unit in the area. If he managed to find Caffrey's motherload... that would be the sweet cherry on top.

Ruiz turned to his team. "For now, working assumption is that Caffrey did not get far. He's injured, bleeding, and his ride's disappeared. He could have called for help, but my hunch is that he stayed-" Ruiz marked a two mile radius around the murder site, "-right here."


	6. Chapter 6

It was early the next morning when Peter picked up Diana. NYPD had already searched the local medical centers, and had found no sign of Caffrey. But there was still a possibility that he had gotten there during the night. They were hoping to catch the end of the night-shift and find somebody who was willing to talk.

Diana looked at Peter with a thoughtful look as she entered the car. "Is that your undercover suit?"

She had come in ripped jeans and a flowery top. Peter, on the other hand, had shown up in his regular business suit.

He glanced down at himself. "What? We need to ask questions, don't we?"

Diana just shook her head.

When they got to the Family Health Center, there were a few people in the waiting area: a mother with two coughing children and a couple of elderly men. They all fell silent when the two agents walked in. 

Peter was painfully aware that he was the only white guy in the room. He put a hand on Diana's arm to stop her. "Maybe you should take over here?"

But before Diana could respond, the receptionist spotted them. "Henry!" she shouted. "The police are here!"

Diana shot him an accusatory glance. "Maybe coming in here with a suit wasn't such a great idea."

Peter squared his shoulders.

Henry, a young, thin man sporting a white doctor's jacket, appeared out of a side-room. "Dr. Henry Blake, I run this place. What do you want?"

"Special agents Burke and Berrigan, FBI." Peter did the intros on their part. 

"FBI...." Henry tasted the word. "Don't you have anything better to do than harass people all day?"

At Peter's blank look, Henry continued. "Your partner was here yesterday, conducted a thorough search, scared everybody away and said he'll tear the place apart if we don't cooperate." 

A few doctors appeared, a wall against the FBI's attempts to breach the place.

Peter could figure out who Henry was talking about, but he wasn't about to hazard a guess. "Whoever he was, he's not my partner." 

The doctor let out a hollow laugh. "Let me guess. You're the good cop."

"I'm not-"

"Yeah, you're just looking for this guy or that guy. You guys never stop. You come in here, scaring away all my patients. Who are they going to turn to, do you think? This place is a sanctuary."

Peter could feel all eyes in the room boring into his back.

"I'm not here to cause any trouble for anybody." Peter unfolded an A4-sized copy of Neal's mugshot. "I'm looking for this man. He's injured and needs help. He needs to turn himself in, we'll protect him."

Henry snorted. "You really are playing the good cop, aren't you?"

"Okay, look, here's my card," Peter produced his card and handed it over. Henry didn't lift his hand to accept it. "It's got my mobile-"

Just then the doors burst open, two young men propped up a third man between them, he was covered in blood and convulsing in pain. Their extensive tattoos marked them as gang-members. Henry hurried over to help. "We've got another gunshot! Bring him in to operating room 2!"

Peter sighed, and exchanged a glance with Diana. They were not wanted here. He left the picture and a bunch of his cards by the receptionist's desk, though he expected they'll be thrown in the trash soon enough. 

*****

Once outside, Diana glanced at Peter. "Did you notice that female doctor on your left? She was listening in to every word."

"Think she knows something?"

Diana shrugged. "She seemed awfully interested."

Peter smiled. "Are you up for a stakeout?"

Diana returned a grin. "Always."

They had parked down the street, and so now returned to their car, and waited.

And waited.

And... waited.

Peter was starting to think this might have been a bad idea, when Diana sat up straighter. "There she is." She had her phone ready, and snapped a few photos.

Peter followed her gaze. A young woman had left the clinic, and was walking down the street.

The two agents hurried to get out of the car, but then Peter paused. He was standing out like a sore thumb in this area.

"I'll take it," Diana said.

Peter nodded.

Diana hurried after their target, trailing enough distance behind her that she won't be easily spotted.

At some point the doctor turned around, and Diana ducked behind a tree. By the time Diana peeped out to check the area, the woman had disappeared. 

Diana muttered a few choice words to herself. Where could she have gone?

She continued walking in the general direction she'd been heading, up to the nearby cross street. Diana stopped at the corner, and looked up and down the street. The doctor was nowhere to be seen. 

She started walking down one side, then turned around and crossed over to the other side. Her suspect couldn't have just disappeared, and she had only lost sight of her for a few seconds. She must have entered one of these buildings lining the street. 

She stopped when she got to the most unusual house on the street, and it was then that she realized why this street had looked somewhat familiar. 

She was standing right outside the Ellington Mansion.

*****

"Auntie June!" Kayla called when she entered the house. 

"Over here!" June called out.

Kayla followed her voice to the kitchen, where she found June scrambling some eggs and bacon. Her patient was sitting down in the little breakfast nook, a steaming mug in hand.

"Kayla!" June brightened when Kayla appeared by the doorway. "Right on time. Want to join us?"

"There's also coffee, Doc," Neal lifted his mug. "It's an Italian blend."

Kayla didn't answer the cheery offers. "I think I told you to stay off your feet."

"I can't stay in bed all day."

"Hm." She turned back to June. "Did you see this?"

Kayla had brought in the paper from outside, and she was holding up the front page like a newsboy of old. June glanced at the big picture of Neal that took up the front page. 

"There is a manhunt," Kayla said. "At some point-"

Neal had stood up to take a look at the paper, and Kayla turned at him. "Didn't I tell you to stay off your feet?"

Neal raised his hands in defense, stepping back to sit down. "Look, whatever it is they say I did, I didn't do it."

Kayla sighed at June. She hadn't expected a different response. She refolded the paper and dropped it on the table. "Where's Cindy?"

"She's taking Bugsy out."

"The Feds were at the clinic again today."

Neal started at the news. "Agent Ruiz? He can be-"

"It wasn't him. A different agent this time." She produces a card. "Agent Peter Burke."

"Peter?" Neal frowned.

"You know him?"

"Yes," both June and Neal answered in unison.

The doctor glanced at Neal. "He claims he'll protect Caffrey."

June turned off the fire under the eggs. "Come, let's have something to eat."

"First things first," Kayla closed the distance to Neal, and put her bag down. "Lift up your shirt." She was already snapping on gloves.

Neal grinned, but at the look on his doctor's face, decided not to risk saying anything. 

Kayla's fingers were gentle as she carefully undid his bandages and ran a finger to check his stitches. "Looks good," she said, with some satisfaction, as she replaced the bandages with new ones. "It's healing nicely. A few more days... and you'll be able to start getting back to normal."

She stepped back, letting him pull his shirt down. 

"It still hurts," Neal said.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you get shot. Now," she looked at June, "what about those eggs and coffee?"

*****

"You are not going to believe what I just found." Diana had called Peter after she pulled a few houses back down the street, standing where she could still see the entrance. She didn't keep Peter in suspense for too long. "I'm outside the Ellington mansion." 

"Ellington?" Peter frowned. About two years earlier, Neal had helped the FBI bring a criminal gang down. They had targeted homes of rich, elderly homeowners across town, and Ellington was slated as their next job. 

"Yeah, it doesn't make sense. Why would... what's the connection between this doctor, Ellington and- Oh, wait. There's somebody coming out."

The front door opened. Diana held her breath, until a young woman appeared, tugging at the leash of a little pug. She coaxed her charge down the stairs, then headed in the opposite direction of where the Fed was stationed.

"It's a girl with a dog," Diana informed Peter. "Late teens, maybe early twenties."

Peter ran a hand through his hair, trying to get back to his earlier question. "I think there's a lot about Mrs. Ellington we don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"They seemed to have a rapport, when they met, after that op."

"Mrs. June Ellington and Neal Caffrey?" Diana repeated. She couldn't see how those two would be connected.

"Yes."

"So what now?" she asked.

"We could bring in that doctor, maybe try to get her to talk. But I think we first need to do some homework."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little holiday gift :-)

After Kayla left, June and Neal sat down to finish their coffees. 

June glanced at the paper which was still lying on the table, with the big, bold headlines warning about her new guest.

Neal followed her glance. His mug shot was splashed across the front page, above the fold, with "CITY-WIDE MANHUNT FOR EX-CON WANTED FOR MURDER!" right on top. 

"I didn't do it," he said.

June looked back at him. "What happened, Neal?" she asked.

Neal chewed on his lip. "I did a friend a favor." That certainly wasn't a lie. "There's this guy, Stamp. We've done business together in the past, but I haven't been in touch with him for years. A friend of mine thought he had-" Neal trailed off. "Thought he couldn't be trusted. In any case, he called me a few weeks ago, out of the blue, and asked me to, well..." he paused, unsure. "Steal something for him."

June seemed to take that in stride.

Stamper had sounded tense, but that didn't raise Neal's suspicions - the guy had always sounded tense. And he sounded desperate. He needed an ancient Chinese vase. "I'm already committed to a buyer," he'd said, "and my guy pulled out at the last second. It's really an easy job. Beneath you, really. If I had more time, I'd get somebody else, but it's kind of urgent."

"What's the take?" Neal had asked

"Buyer will pay half a million - I'll split it fifty, fifty with you."

The heist itself had gone off flawlessly. Stamp had been right. It was an easy job, and he was in and out before anybody noticed.

Now, sitting in June's kitchen, he already knew. "But it was all a set up."

Neal had stepped into to Stamp's hotel room and cast a disapproving glance round the room. "You couldn't choose a dumpier place?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stamp looked out left and right down the corridor, and then closed the door behind him. "Not everybody can afford to live at five star hotels."

"Let's just get this over with." Neal put the case on the bed and popped the locks open. When Stamper didn't make a move towards it, Neal glanced at him. "You want to examine the vase?" 

This galvanized the man to action. "The vase, of course." Stamper pulled out white felt gloves, which he then proceeded to slip on his hands. Neal noticed that he did so with a slight tremor. He then affixed a monocle to his eye, and bent down to look at the vase. "Yes, very beautiful." He picked it up gingerly and turned it around. 

Neal took off his own gloves. "Well?"

"It's perfect."

Stamper continued staring at the vase. He was not making eye-contact. Neal looked around. The room was a small one, with no windows. A door leading off to the bathroom. 

"What did you do, Stamp?"

If Stamper had sold him to the Feds, a SWAT team might be banging down the door any minute, and he had no exit strategy.

Stamper finally looked up at Neal. "I'm sorry. I didn't have a choice." 

Neal leapt towards the door. His hand was on the doorknob, but it was too late. Matthew Keller stepped out of the bathroom, a gun in his hand. "Hold it, Caffrey!"

Neal automatically raised his hands in a placating gesture, and turned around. "Keller."

"Didn't think you'll ever see me again. Huh, Caffrey?" Without pause, Keller turned and shot Stamper. He dropped, shock on his face. The vase shattered. The body hit the floor a second later.

The barrel moved back to aim at Neal's chest.

Neal had taken a step forward, but at the sight of the gun he stepped back.

"You should see your face," Keller chuckled. "You know that feeling when you do a friend a favor and then discover they've been planning on selling you down the river all along?"

Neal didn't say anything. 

"Step away from the door, Caffrey," Keller motioned with his gun, "and keep your hands up. I thought we were friends. Buddies. And then you sent me to jail. You've been to Sing-Sing, you know what it's like..."

As Keller talked, Neal tried to figure a way out of his current predicament. 

"... and continue on as if nothing happened?"

"You sent Dao after me." The Vietnamese gangster had tried to kill him.

Keller smiled. "Big mistake. Turns out, if you want something done right, you need to do it yourself."

Keller considered the man in front of him. "You're awfully quiet. Where's that famous Caffrey silver tongue, ah? You're not going to try and convince me I'd be better off letting you go? That you're going to make it worth my while?"

Neal had no illusion that was going to work. Not with Keller. "You're not going to get away with this."

"Oh, but I will. That's what makes this so delicious. And you know what? Nobody's gonna care. When they find your body here, they'll just assume it's a deal gone wrong. Scumbag shoots scumbag - that's the kind of news people celebrate. The NYPD will make a half-hearted attempt to look like they're actually investigating, but deep down they'll be relieved to get you out of their hair, and they'll finally have that proof you're just a worthless criminal. They'll keep your body on ice for a few months, and when the case goes cold... you know what they do with unclaimed bodies?"

There was no response from Neal.

"No? Guess you'll find out. Your FBI friends will be more than happy to let the NYPD deal with this. So who's left? Mozzie? He's gonna keep ten yards away from this whole mess. Oh wait... I heard you and Mozzie had a falling out." Keller tsk-tsked. "A shame."

At this point Neal had enough. "Can we skip the whole evil overlord speech?"

"Ooh, that touched a nerve, didn't it?" Keller smiled. "I get it, believe me. That's why I prefer to work alone. I hate back-stabbers, and I hate rats. You know that, Neal." 

Neal had no intention of going down that road. "You used Kate."

Keller chuckled. "Sweet, innocent Kate. Is that it, Caffrey? I never forced Kate to do anything she didn't want to do. I'd love to talk more, but I've got a plane to catch. I just stopped by the Big Apple to take care of business."

He aimed his gun.

Neal had nothing to lose. He rushed at Keller. 

Keller let out a shot, and Neal could feel he was hit. But a millisecond later, they were both grappling for the gun.

Keller still had his finger on the trigger, and there were shots going everywhere as the two men vied for control. Finally Neal managed to wrest the gun out of Keller's hand, hitting Keller's hand against the wall until the other man let go.

He panted heavily. He looked down at his hand. It had blood all over it.   
  
Now it was Keller's turn to raise his hands. "You're going to kill me now?"

Neal slowly backed out, the gun still trained at his would-be-murderer.

Keller managed a short, hollow laugh. "You don't have the guts, Caffrey!"

Neal shook his head at the memory, returning to the present. "My ride disappeared. I was losing blood, and I knew I didn't have much time. I had no idea where to go." He wasn't sure he could make it to one of Mozzie's safe-houses. He wasn't even sure he was still welcome there. He hadn't been in touch with Mozzie for a few months now. Somehow, he had come here, but he didn't really remember getting to June's.

June put down her coffee mug. "So what did you do with the gun?"

The gun! His blue eyes opened wide. He suddenly realized he had made a _terrible_ mistake.


	8. Chapter 8

It was barely dawn when Ruiz arrived at the 10th precinct building. He had been putting a lot of hours into this Caffrey investigation. It was so hectic, he hadn't managed to get home since he first got the call about the murder. He had gotten just a few hours of sleep in his office, falling asleep at his desk, before being roused again with yet another phone call. 

It was all going to be worth it in the end, he knew it, and this lead was definitely going to be worth it. The cops had arrested a young delinquent who, shortly after 2am, held up a bodega with a gun id'd as the murder weapon.

Once inside, a police agent directed him to the detective's desk. A little cubicle whose walls were filled with childish drawings and "most wanted" photos.

After a round of intros, the detective handed over a plastic evidence bag. Inside was a gun. Glock 27. "This is it," he said with a large smile. "Our guy says it ain't his."

Ruiz turned the bag over in his hands. He could clearly see streaks of blood on the handle.

"We got two sets of fingerprints on it," the detective filled him in. "I already ran them for you. One is our guy, the other's Neal Caffrey."

Ruiz chuckled. He now had the evidence he needed to bring Caffrey down. Once he managed to catch the slippery thief.

"Can I speak to him?"

"He's all yours." The detective had a backlog of petty theft cases. He was quite happy to transfer this case over to somebody else. 

Ruiz grinned. "Do you happen to have a map?"

A few moments later, Ruiz entered the interrogation room, a pile in his hands. 

The suspect looked at the agent with wide eyes.

Ruiz smiled at him as he sat down across from him, then opened the file. He had skimmed it just before entering the room. John Tyler, 21, your ordinary garden-variety thief. Had a hard life, and was probably going to have a harder life, about to spend most of his adulthood in and out of jails. Ruiz didn't have much sympathy for him. "So... John. You have quite the rap sheet. Spent half a year in Rikers for petty theft." He looked up at the man. "You know that armed robbery is a completely different caliber."

"I wasn't going to kill nobody."

"I know you weren't. But the police guys outside, they don't care."

"I just found the gun."

"I know." According to his file, Tyler found the gun in a dumpster. Ruiz leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "This is your lucky day, John. You see, turns out that this-" he held up the baggie with the gun, "-is a murder weapon. I don't care about you or your stickup. I want to find the murderer."

He unfolded a big map of Manhattan on the table. "Now, where did you find the gun?"

John looked at it for a long time, then reached a shaking hand over central Manhattan. He hesitated, then put a finger down somewhere in the East Village.

"Here?"

The FBI agent looked at the map, then back at John. "You're sure?"

"Or maybe..." his finger moved slowly above the map, tracing a line back and forth as he criss-crossed Manhattan.

Ruiz made a noise of disgust, and John immediately put his finger down. "Here?"

"Focus, okay? Where did you find the gun. This shouldn't be too difficult."

John looked at the map for a long, long time, then back at the federal agent. "I'm not good with maps. But I know where I found the gun."

"Can you describe where you found it?"

John thought hard. "It was a dumpster."

"Yeah."

"In an alley."

"Right." So far, Tyler was not adding any details he did not already know.

John thought hard. Then he finally looked up at Ruiz. "I can show you where I found it."

"Really?"

John nodded.

"Okay..." Ruiz refolded the map. "So what we're going to do is, we're going on a little trip, and you'll show me where you found the gun."

*****

Ruiz started off at the motel, figuring Neal threw the gun not far from there. He drove around, up and down the streets, sketching a widening circle as he did so. "See anything familiar?"

John shook his head. "No, wait! It's there!" he shouted, raising his cuffed hands to point.

Ruiz hit the brakes.

"No... hold on. It's a bit further."

Ruiz was starting to wonder whether the guy really remembered where he'd found the gun, or if he was trying to bide his time and think up a different way out.

"There!" The man shouted again.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." Then, a second later, "No."

The third time, Ruiz was about to throw the guy out of the car, or rather, back into the NYPD's hands, with a recommendation to throw him into a little cell and throw away the key. But this time, he insisted that this was really really the real place.

It was a dingy alley, with a dingy dumpster, and it looked like almost every other alley and every other dumpster in the area. Ruiz looked at it with some doubt. "If you've got this wrong..."

"No, trust me. It was here. One hundred percent." John sounded amazingly sure of himself for once.

Ruiz dialed a number on his phone. "Ruiz, yeah. Get a team down here." 

The agents who showed up weren't overly excited to hear about their next task. They drew lots, and two people got the short straw, and the honor of getting into the dumpster to start sifting the garbage.

It was slow, smelly going, but after a couple hours' work, they struck the proverbial gold: they found a phone and felt gloves. They still had to send it to the lab to confirm those objects belonged to their suspect, but Ruiz was almost 100% sure that it was just a formality.

Ruiz returned to the car. "Hey!" He knocked at the back window. 

John had been dozing off in the back seat, but at the sharp sound he jumped, now suddenly wide awake. 

Ruiz opened driver's car door to speak to his prisoner in the back through the mesh wire separating the two sides of the car. "I'll need you to give me a statement back at the station," he said.

"Yeah, sure."

Ruiz looked back at his people, clambering out of the dumpster and talking excitedly about getting out of their clothes and taking a shower ASAP.

"What were you looking for, digging in that dumpster, anyway?"

"I saw somebody throw something in there."

Ruiz's breath caught in his throat. Tyler hadn't mentioned _that_ before. He now had eyes on Caffrey. Of course, he had to verify everything, but what were the chances? "What did that somebody look like?"

"White guy, tall, thin... " John struggled to find more words.

"Hold on." Ruiz reached into his jacked pocket to retrieve Neal's mugshot. He held it up for John to see. "This guy?"

Tyler nodded eagerly. "Yeah, that's him."

"Did you see where he went after that?" Ruiz tried asking the question as nonchalantly as possible.

"Yeah. Down that way." Tyler lifted his hands to point down the street. "He was walking funny."

"About what time was this?"

"I don't know. One? No, maybe three?"

Ruiz shrugged it off. "Okay, not important."

Ruiz pulled out a map of the area and spread it out on the car's hood. The murder site at the motel was in the center of the map. Ruiz marked their current position, and drew a line between the two points. The street the man pointed to, was practically a continuation of that line. Caffrey had been heading somewhere, and threw the gun on the way.

Ruiz ran his finger down the street. Looking for... something. What was Caffrey going for? His finger stopped at a place he knew quite well. And so did Caffrey. The Ellington Mansion.

He grabbed his phone and dialed a number. "Get a SWAT team ready." 

*****

  
"Boss?" Diana knocked on Peter's office door.

"Diana!" Peter motioned her to enter. "Look at this." He turned his computer screen in her direction."

He had managed to ID the young doctor they'd followed: Kayla Woods. Unsurprisingly, she had a record. Sealed, since she'd been a minor at the time. The FBI agent had already sent in a request for a warrant.

Diana quickly skimmed the information on the screen. "Interesting." She handed Peter the file in her hands. "I'll see your file, and raise you one."

That got Peter's full attention.

"I looked up the Ellingtons. Your gut was right."

"Mrs. Ellington has a criminal record?" Peter asked, surprised. June Ellington had seemed so proper.

"No. But her late husband did."

Peter flipped through the file. Byron Ellington did time for gambling, fraud and money laundering. "Caffrey's kind of guy."

"Makes you wonder," Diana said.

"What?" Peter looked up from the folder. Then he realized what Diana was hinting at. "You think Caffrey knew Ellington before the FBI stakeout? That the whole story with Keller..."

"Maybe it was a way to take out the competition."  
Peter sucked in his breath. If Caffrey's 'offer' to help them bring down Keller had been a con from beginning to end, and the so-called 'victim', June Ellington, was in on it... well, that changed everything. And he had fallen for it all.  
Peter's phone rang. He reached for it, then looked at Diana in surprise. Talking of the devil. "It's June Ellington."

He put the phone on speaker, so Diana would be able to follow as well. "Good morning, Mrs. Ellington. How can I help you?"


	9. Chapter 9

June and Neal were sitting the kitchen. June held a phone in her hand, putting in the number from Burke's card. It had taken some convincing from June's side to get Neal to agree to this phone call.

"You can't live on the run all your life," June had said.

"I have experience," countered Neal with a quick smile.

"They're going to get you in the end," June said. "They always do."

June sighed. Neal was so young, and so sure of himself. She remembered when Byron and she were like that - full of life and hope and daring. The world was their oyster to take what they wanted, and they did. They had paid the price for it. Byron had spent years behind bars, their daughters growing up with a father they got to see only every two weeks. When he did get out, he was a changed man. He wanted to spend his life with his family, and never get back to that place again.

Not all their friends took that path. Some had carried on, living with the constant risk. They ended up in jail, or dead, or both.

"Keller is a murderer," she told Neal. "Are you going to let him walk away with that?"

Neal's blue eyes fixed on June's brown ones. "Keller won."

"He _didn't_ win, you're still alive."

"He had this all planned. He's not a two-bit criminal. He thinks two, three, ten steps ahead. It doesn't matter whether I'm dead, or in jail, or on the run. No matter what happens, no matter what I do now, I'm screwed. Win-win from his point of view."

"Who said those are your only options?"

"What other options are there?"

"You're not going to jail for a crime you didn't commit," June insisted. She put a hand on the young man's hand. "If you want to prove your innocence, you need to stop running."

Neal bit his lip. "If I stop, they'll throw me in jail and never look back. They're not going to look for Keller."

June exhaled slowly. "Well, maybe we can offer them a deal. Do you trust Agent Burke?"

*****

The phone rang a few times before Peter's voice answered. "Good morning, Mrs. Ellington. How can I help you?"

"Good morning, Agent Burke. I was contacted by a mutual acquaintance of ours."

"Who's that?" Peter feigned ignorance.

June glanced at Neal. She had turned on the speaker on her phone, so the young man could hear every word. "Neal Caffrey. He-"

"He needs to turn himself in."

"He'll turn himself in, but first you listen to his side of the story."

"He'll turn himself in, and then he'll have all the time in the world to give his side of the story."

"No, before you arrest him. No other agents, Agent Burke, and no wires."

Peter balked at accepting demands from a fugitive. But he also knew that he had an opportunity.

"Mrs. Ellington, I need to warn you that if you are harboring a fugitive, you can face criminal charges. 

"He once helped me, Agent Burke. I'm just returning the favor."

Peter and Diana exchanged a look. That was almost an admission. 

"Okay. Where do you want to meet?"

"Columbus park." It was in Chinatown. Not far from the FBI building, but a place where the Federal agent would probably stand out. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. No other agents," June warned.

"I'll come alone."

June pressed the button to disconnect the call. Her eyes met Neal's. "Well, here we go."

*****

In the silence that followed the end of the call, Peter exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. They had been looking all over for the missing fugitive, and here he was, calling them.

Diana glanced in surprise at Peter. "You think Caffrey's really going to hand himself in?" she asked, disbelief on her face.

"I honestly don't know." Peter stood up, reaching for his coat. He was sure Neal had something planned, but he couldn't see where the conman was going with this.

It wasn't a long walk to the park. Peter found an empty bench at the edge of the park, and sat down. There weren't many people around. Flakes had started to come down, chasing most people back home.

Time passed. The snow was starting to catch on the ground.

Peter looked at his watch. It was already past the twenty minutes June had promised him. Whatever Neal had planned, it seemed he had fallen for it. 

*****

Ruiz's team burst into the Ellington mansion with shouts of "FBI!"

The found June standing in the entrance area, about to go out. "What is going on here?" she asked.

Ruiz was leading the team. "FBI! Ma'am, how many people are in the house?"

"I-"

"How many people?"

June wasn't about to answer that question. "Do you have a warrant?"

Ruiz pushed a piece of paper in June's face. "Now, I'm going to ask one more time. How many people are in the house?"

"My granddaughter is upstairs."

That was enough of an answer for the agent. Ruiz turned to his team. "Arrest her."

The FBI had records of the plans of the house from the last time they had to set a stakeout here. They split up into three teams and methodically searched the house floor by floor.

He had people watching the door, and spotters around the house. Caffrey was not getting out of this house.

By the time they reached the rooftop, the only person they had found was the granddaughter. They had caught her on the second floor stairs, where she had come at the racket the agents were making.

"What's your name?" Ruiz had asked.

"C- Cindy," she stuttered.

"Okay, Cindy. Have you seen this man?" Ruiz produced Neal's mugshot.

Cindy hesitated. "I don't know."

"Really?" she was obviously lying. "This is a very dangerous man. You haven't seen him?"

Cindy shook her head.

"Get her out of here." 

The only place left now was the upstairs studio apartment. There was a chorus of 'clear's as the agents checked ranged out throughout the place. There wasn't much there. Neither was Caffrey.

"Sir! Look at this!" One of his agents was checking out the sleeping area. There were bandages and a bottle of aspirin by the bed. Caffrey had definitely been here.

Ruiz looked around. There was a mug of coffee on the small counter. He stuck a finger in it, it was still warm.

"He's here," he said with certainty. That delicious feeling of knowing that soon he'll have his collar. 

Except, there was no Caffrey.

Ruiz opened the door out to the veranda. A white cover was starting to form outside. He walked out, looking about. He stopped to peek at the street below.

"You think he managed to jump?" one of his agents asked him.

It would have been the Caffrey thing to do, which is why he'd placed people between the house and the neighboring buildings. "The entire block is closed off. We would have seen him."

Ruiz marched back into the apartment, where his agents were milling about.

"Listen up, people! I want this house searched again from top to bottom. No stone should be left unturned. Search everywhere and everything. Our perp is here, and we're going to find him."

*****

Neal had been in the studio apartment when he heard the commotion of the agents. He opened the door to the house, and stopped to listen. His breath caught in his throat. 

How could he have been so stupid? It had been too dangerous to trust Burke. The agent must have called in reinforcements the second after they'd made the call.

Even if he could manage it, it was too late to try and run. The bottom floor was probably already surrounded. 

He looked around, in despair. He had to get off the roof somehow.

He opened the door to the porch, and was quickly hit by a blast of cold. He had no time to get dressed for this.

There were neighboring houses within jumping distance. If he was in better shape, he might have tried it. But now... he didn't want to risk it. 

Then he looked up, at the roof above his little studio apartment. He tested a drain pipe. It seemed to hold under his weight. He wasn't supposed to be walking, let alone climbing, but this was an emergency.

He didn't have much time to think it through before he shimmied up the pipe. 

Now he lay down, trying to blend into the environment. It had started snowing, and it was now falling in heavy flakes, the snow catching on to his clothing. If Ruiz found him here, it would be the end of him. That's assuming he wouldn't freeze to death first. 

Neal could hear them moving around in the apartment below him. Throwing around things, breaking things. They were taking all their frustration out on June's place, and it was all his fault.

He promised himself he'll make it up to her, if he got out of here alive.

He could hear somebody exclaim at the pile of suits. 

His chest hurt. He put a hand to his bandage, and brought it back to see that it was bloodied. He must have torn his stitches climbing up here. 

Doc was going to kill him. If the snow and Ruiz wouldn't do the job.

The agents below him continued rummaging about. Something glass smashed into pieces.

And then, his luck turned.

"Sir," an agent spoke up, "we've got a sighting two blocks from here."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

Ruiz hurried everybody out. "Everybody, go, go, go!"

Neal could hear somebody reporting on his radio. "Suspect sighted. All units ..." and then the door closed behind it.

A few minutes later, he heard voices shouting in the street. Then cars started up, the sounds of engines soon overtaken by the sirens. For a moment it seemed as though it was coming from everywhere, the sounds echoing from all around the small street. But soon the street was quiet.

Neal lay back, thinking over his options. He had to get out of here before they came back.

*****

  
Neal didn't have a lot of time. He carefully made his way down the roof, slowly sliding down the pipe, holding on with his hands and feet.

But the pipe was too wet, and at some point he lost his footing, and crashed down.

He might have blacked out. When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by shouts. "FBI! Freeze! Hands on your head!" 

Before he could even react, he was roughly pushed down on the ground. His hands were grabbed and cuffed behind his back. Somebody pushed down his legs, ensuring he couldn't move. 

Ruiz approached him, gun in hand, a huge grin on his face. "You're losing your edge, Caffrey. You fell for the oldest trick in the book."

Neal winced. He should have seen this coming. Ruiz had set a trap for him, pretending to go away, and he had walked straight into it. 

Ruiz put his phone to his lips. "All teams, suspect has been apprehended. I repeat, suspect has been apprehended."


	10. Chapter 10

Peter had been sitting outside in Columbus Park for a long hour. The snow was really piling up now, and even the hardiest of park-goers had cleared out long ago. It was obvious that June Ellington wasn't going to show up, but Peter wasn't yet ready to admit that fact to himself.

His phone rang. He answered it after he managed to pull his glove off. "Yes?"

It was Diana. "Boss? You better get back here."

"Why?"

"Ruiz just arrested Caffrey."

"What?! Where?"

"The Ellington mansion. I-"

Peter sucked in his breath at that revelation.

"-Don't know any details besides that..."

"Okay, thanks. I'm on my way."

*****

Peter headed directly for the Violent Crime division offices, located two floors above his own White Collar offices.

Nobody seemed to pay him much attention as he searched the corridors. He passed a conference room, then came back when he noticed who was sitting inside: June Ellington. 

She noticed him at the door. Her mouth set in a thin line. 

"Mrs. Ellington."

"I'm not going to say a word until my lawyer shows up."

"You've got to believe me, none of this is my doing."

June quickly broke her word to stay silent. "Neal thought he could trust you, Agent Burke."

"He _could_ trust me. He-"

"Burke!" Ruiz appeared, glaring at him from the door.

"I'll get back to you-"

Ruiz practically dragged him out of the room. "What are you doing interrogating my suspect?"

" _Your_ suspect? Your team walked right over my op."

"I don't remember being notified of any op. I lead this case, Burke. If you knew Caffrey was hiding out there, you should have-"

"I _didn't_ know." Truth was, Ruiz had a point, but Peter was not in the mood to start apologizing. "Mrs. Ellington contacted me to arrange for Caffrey to hand himself in."

"Really?" 

"Yeah. I would have notified you immediately, but I didn't want your SWAT goons showing up and messing it all up."

"And how did that work for you?"

Peter fumed.

"Well, Caffrey is under arrest, and he didn't exactly waltz into those cuffs."

"You showed up with an armed team, of course he would try to run."

"You offered him a deal, didn't you?" Ruiz said, accusingly.

"I offered to listen to him."

Ruiz chuckled.

"Where is he?"

"Waiting in interrogation." He glanced at his watch. "I'll give him some time to stew in there, so he's good and ready."

"And June Ellington? You're going to-"

"She lawyered up very quickly, didn't she?"

"She-"

"The granddaughter too. It doesn't matter. I'm going to interrogate her, there's no way Caffrey was there by chance."

"They met each other at that stakeout." Peter couldn't have sounded less convincing.

Ruiz smiled at that. "You want to see Caffrey?"

*****

Neal was sitting on a chair, his hands cuffed through an iron loop on the table. Despite the situation, he seemed rather relaxed. As if he wasn't facing the full wrath of the law on a murder charge.

Peter and Ruiz were standing in an adjacent room which had a big window which allowed them to see into the interrogation room. Ruiz had placed one of his agents there, to stand and watch the conman, in case he tried to execute a disappearance act. He was taking no chances here.

The White Collar agent noted the scratches on Neal's face, the bloodied shirt. "I see you worked him over."

"He worked himself over. Jumped off the roof." Ruiz glanced at Peter. "Calm down, I had a medic check him over."

Peter took a deep breath before making his next request. "I'd like to sit in on the interrogation."

Ruiz shot Peter another quick look. "If you'd have arrested Caffrey, would you have let me sit in?"

Peter opened his mouth, about to angrily brush away the question, but he realized that Ruiz was right. Had the situation been reversed, he wouldn't have let Ruiz anywhere near Caffrey.

Ruiz waited a few silent seconds, then huffed. "Yeah, I figured."

"He was about to hand himself over, and I promised him I'll listen to what he has to say."

Ruiz just shook his head. "That's your problem, not mine."

"Ruiz-"

"He's my prisoner, Burke. If you want, you can stay _here_ and listen in."

*****

Neal was sitting in Ruiz's interrogation room, thinking how he'd been so wrong. He shouldn't have trusted Peter. He had thought the agent was a straight shooter, that he could trust him. How could he have been so stupid? Mozzie had tried to warn him. "You're too close to that Suit, Neal," he had told him. "One day... one day... ".

Well, that one day had come, and here he was.

He had told June he could either be dead, in jail or on the run. June had thought he could find a fourth way, but right now - that didn't seem very likely.

The door opened, interrupting Neal's self castigation. It was Agent Ruiz, with a quiet smile on his face. "How you doing, Neal?"

Neal eyed him silently, but that didn't seem to bother Ruiz. "You got banged up good jumping from that roof. Medic says he also had to sew up your stitches. You're doing okay?"

"I'm fine."

Ruiz nodded. He produced a key, and unlocked Neal's handcuffs. "Those cuffs are just a formality with you, aren't they?" he noted.

He repeated the basics of the Miranda warning, and then sat down next to Neal. "Look, I realize you don't like me much. But this isn't personal. I just want to know what happened, okay?"

Neal chuckled darkly. "Do you?"

"Of course."

Neal leaned forward, his eyes locked on the Fed's. "Matthew Keller shot Stamper."

"Keller?" 

"That's right."

Keller had confessed to several counts of murder and had been sentenced to a federal penitentiary in Kentucky. He'd escaped two weeks earlier, and the FBI had assumed he had already managed to slip out of the country.

"Why would Keller kill Stamper?"

Neal shrugged. "You're the detective."

"You want me to believe that Keller somehow made his way to New York, just to kill Stamper."

"No," Neal replied. "He wanted to kill _me_."

" _He_ shot you."

"That's right."

"He came to New York to kill you," Ruiz repeated. He didn't believe a word the conman was saying.

"Yes." Neal paused for a beat. "Maybe he's still in New York. I can help you catch him."

"Really?" Ruiz smiled. "How's that going to work? You want to join the team?" 

"He came here to kill me. If he thinks he can get away with it, he'll try again. You could use me as bait, just-"

"Why did you come to that motel?" Ruiz interrupted Neal's spiel. He was not going to waste any more time exploring what he thought was a dead-end, an attempt to derail the interrogation. 

"Stamper called me and said that he was in serious trouble and that he needed my help."

"What kind of trouble?"

"He didn't have time to tell me."

"Okay," Ruiz leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what you think of this story. You stole the vase, and then asked Stamper to fence it for you. But something went wrong in the exchange. Maybe Stamper wasn't willing to pay, right? He pulled out a gun. He shot you, there was a struggle, and he got shot."

"It's an interesting story," Neal allowed, "but that's not what happened."

"Neal, it was self-defense. You didn't have a choice. No jury will tell you otherwise. Now, if you tell me the truth, I'll talk to the DA, we can get a deal for you." Ruiz wasn't losing anything by being nice. If Caffrey would just admit that he'd shot Stamper when a deal went wrong, he could bring him down for the theft of the vase. And if he was lucky, nail Caffrey for murder as well. Self-defense or not, the fence was shot with a clean shot.

"I _told_ you the truth," Neal answered.

"Right. The second gunman on the knoll."

Neal ignored the Fed's acerbic tone. "Keller set up the whole thing. He wants me dead. He tried to kill me once already, and now he came here himself to finish the job."

"And yet here you are."

Neal tried again. "I can be your bait to catch Keller."

Ruiz wasn't about to let Caffrey throw him off-course. "If you didn't kill anybody, why did you run?"

"Because I had a psycho after me, trying to kill me."

"We found your gun, Neal. Ballistics says this is the gun that killed Stamper. It's got your fingerprints on it, and we've got a witness who saw you get rid of it, and can ID you." Ruiz paused for a short moment to let all of that sink in. "Nobody was chasing you. Now, you want to try again?"

Neal took a deep breath. "I'm telling you. Keller shot Stamper. He wanted to kill me, we struggled, I got hold of the gun."

"You think a jury's gonna buy that?" Ruiz focused his attention on his suspect. "Let's start from the beginning. Why did you come to that motel?"

Neal sighed. "You're interrogating the wrong person."

"The right person being Keller?"

Neal shook his head. "You don't believe me."

"I want to know the truth, Neal."

"I am telling you the truth."

Ruiz couldn't help chuckling. "Truth is not your strong point."

"I am not making this up."

"Okay," Ruiz once more re-focused the interrogation. "You were shot. You must have lost a lot of blood.

Neal wondered where this was going. "I suppose so."

"What did you do then?"

*****

They've been going at it for more than an hour, and Caffrey was still sticking to his story. He was just a victim in this whole sordid tale. 

"Look," Ruiz finally said. "It would be nice to have a confession, but I don't really need it to prove what really happened. It's just a shame about June Ellington and her granddaughter."

"June called the FBI," Neal was quick to defend his friend. "You've got nothing on her."

"It doesn't matter, Neal. See, she harbored a criminal. There's going to be a trial, that's going to take a few months. That young granddaughter of hers, Cindy? She's going to stand trial too."

"She had nothing to do with this," Neal repeated.

"Well, I beg to differ. She's not a minor, Neal. She was in that house, and she lied to the FBI agents who showed up. It's a shame, really, because that kind of thing can ruin your entire future."

Ruiz wasn't finished, though. "And then there's the doctor."

"What doctor?"

Ruiz smiled. "I'm not as stupid as you think, Neal. The medic says those stitches of yours were very professional. Not something you or June could have done. I'm going to find whoever treated you, Neal."

Ruiz paused. "But I can offer you a deal. You give me a full confession, and I'll drop all charges against them."

"You want me to confess to killing Stamper."

"I want you to confess to the truth, Neal."

"And then you'll drop all the charges against June, Cindy and anybody else."

"That's right."

"I want the DA to sign off on that."

"I can bring her here right now."

Neal nodded. "Fine. You'll have your confession."

*****

When Ruiz exited the interrogation room, Peter hurried to meet him right outside the door.

"What the hell happened just now?!"

"What do you mean?"

"Caffrey never confesses."

"Maybe not to you," Ruiz retorted.

"You're assuming he's not telling the truth."

Ruiz fought the urge to roll his eyes. Burke was so predictable, automatically believing everything that came out of the young conman's mouth. "About what?"

"If Keller got to New York-"

Ruiz cut him. "There is _no_ way Keller would risk coming to New York. He's got every law-enforcement agency out there looking for him."

"They're not looking for him in New York," Peter pointed out. "Why would Caffrey make up such an unbelievable story?"

Ruiz laughed out loud. "Because he _knew_ you'd fall for it!"

"How did he even know Keller escaped?"

Ruiz shrugged. "News travels fast in the slimy underworld. A man like Keller who disappears, I'm sure everybody heard of it before we did."

Peter paused. "Look, Ruiz, on the off-chance that Caffrey's telling the truth, we should-".

"No!" Ruiz exploded. "I'm not going to let Caffrey run circles around me. Whatever outrageous plan he comes up with, you can be sure that it has one main objective: to get him off the hook. I don't know what, where or how, but it's going to be some sort of scam, and he's going to come out on top at the end."

"Yes, but-"

"No, Burke. Keller is a wanted criminal, his picture's up in every post office. I trust the FBI to find him, with or without Caffrey's help. Caffrey's facing life in prison, he'll say anything right now to get out of it. He-"

Peter tried interjecting, but Ruiz wasn't going to let him. "He'll sell his mother down the river if he could. So I don't care what kind of tall tales he comes up with. I'm going to make sure that sociopath ends up where he belongs: behind bars and off the streets. My allegiance is to the honest people of New York. Can you say the same?" He stormed off, not waiting for a reply from the other agent.


	11. Chapter 11

A few days later, as the White Collar agents finished up a meeting, Hughes stopped Peter.

"Peter." Hughes held up a finger. "Hold on."

Peter sighed. He'd been expecting this.

Hughes waited until everybody else had filed out. "Now that Caffrey's caught, I'd like you back at your regular caseload."

"I am back," Peter protested.

"That means, no work on the Caffrey case. Or Keller." Hughes held Peter's stare. 

Peter blinked first. "Reese..."

"I understand you have a special bond with the kid, and you want things to be different, but he confessed to murder, end of story."

"He said Keller shot him. If Keller's in New York-"

"He retracted that."

"You really buy that?" Peter asked.

"Caffrey knows he's going down," Hughes said, "and he'll tell you whatever story you want to hear. We don't even know Keller is really in New York. All we've got is a conman's word for it."

"We know Keller's on the loose."

"That's right, and he's got no reason to hang around here."

"Unless he wants to get rid of Caffrey first," Peter argued.

"Peter, he confessed!"

"I don't believe Caffrey killed anybody." There, he said it.

Hughes rubbed the bridge of his nose, and Peter used the opportunity to press his case. "Caffrey didn't kill anybody. You know it, and I know it. Ruiz is going to put an innocent man in prison."

"Caffrey is not exactly innocent."

"He is of murder. If we find Keller, we can-"

Hughes raised his hand to stop Peter's flow of words. "Peter, I want my agents focusing on their jobs. Not on some phantom killer who may or may not exist. Am I clear?"

Peter seemed about to say something else, but after several beats he nodded. "Right."

Hughes wasn't sure he had gotten through to his junior agent. "You're one of my best agents," he added. "Don't let your heart lead you off-course."

*****

Neal was held by the FBI for a few days, and was then transported to Rikers Island. 

He already had his first hearing in front of a judge, and had entered a plea of "not guilty", to all charges. Confession notwithstanding, he was going to fight for his innocence. 

The judge set his trial date for next week, and ordered Neal held in custody, without bail. 

A prisoner's time wasn't worth much, and the entire intake process at Rikers took hours. He was signed in, searched, given a prison uniform, and escorted to the warden's office.

He stood there, in his jail uniform, which consisted of coarse blue shirts and pants. The shirt sported the New York DOJ stamp on the back. It was such a change from his silk shirts and cotton robes. 

The warden glanced at him when he was brought in. She leaned back in her chair.

"The _infamous_ Neal Caffrey," she said it with relish. "I had a feeling you were going to end up here sooner or later. But, I suppose, that was a foregone conclusion, wasn't it?"

Neal wondered if the warden had called him in here to gloat.

"I just didn't expect you to stoop to murder," she continued. "How long has it been since your release?"

The warden could have just looked it up in his file. "Almost three years, ma'am."

"Three years," the warden repeated. "Sing Sing, was it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The press loves you... the lovable thief who managed to outwit the system, until he got caught for murder. I already got a few requests for interviews. I've got one simple piece of advice for you: keep your nose clean and don't pull any tricks. There's a lot of eyes on me, and I don't want any trouble."

"Understood, ma'am."

She glanced through some papers. "You'll be placed in protective custody." 

It was a nice way of saying solitary confinement. "I don't think-"

"I wasn't asking for your opinion, Mr. Caffrey."

Neal forced a smile. "Yes, ma'am."

And that was that. The meeting was over, and Neal was taken away to his new home, for the duration of his trial.

Neal lay on his cot in his jail cell. There were no lights - it was already past lights out time - but he didn't need his eyes to see his cell. The walls and ceiling were bare cement, cracks slithering along them. The mattress was thin and dumpy. The door had a thin slit in it to pass in supplies.

He could practically touch all four walls without moving.

Neal put his hands to his eyes. In Sing Sing, the smells and sounds of hundreds of men forced together in tight quarters had assailed his senses. But right now, he wished he could hear something, anything. The quiet was oppressive, punctuated only by some far off clanging.

He fought the urge to start shouting. It wouldn't do to be dragged back in front of the warden on his first day.

He's been held in police and federal lockup more than once, but this was the first time since his release that he was back in jail. And there was a very real chance that he'd spend the next few decades there, or in some maximum-security prison. It was a sobering thought.

On the other hand, it could have been worse. If New York had a death sentence, he would have probably been looking at one, some ten-twenty years down the road.

He wondered if he hadn't made a mistake turning himself in. He hadn't expected much from Ruiz, but he had trusted Burke. He had thought that the White Collar agent would live up to his promise and listen to his story. He had thought he could convince him, somehow, that he's being falsely accused. 

He couldn't have been further away from the truth. Ruiz didn't believe his story. Burke wasn't even interested in hearing it.

Neal closed his eyes, forcing his breaths out slowly. But sleep did not come. The one thing he had now, was time. He had a _lot_ of time to think about how he could have done things differently. 

*****

That evening, at home, Peter sat down to review Keller's files. El was out, catering an event, so it was only him and Satchmo at home. The lab was quite content lying on the couch, by his master's side.

Keller must have planned his escape from federal prison for weeks before he'd pulled it off. He had beaten a guard unconscious and then walked out of the facility wearing his uniform. The guard had been tied up, and it was not until several hours later that somebody happened across him, and the prisoner's escape was discovered.

Keller had stolen a car from the prison's parking lot, but it was found only a few miles away, on a side road. He must have had a gateway vehicle waiting for him. The Marshals searched high and low for him, but hadn't found a further clue to his whereabouts. 

The authorities assumed that Keller was heading out of the country and put most of their efforts into securing ports and border stations. That had been two weeks ago, so it was quite likely that Keller had managed to slip out of the US.

But what if he had indeed gone to New York, like Caffrey had claimed? Peter reached for his laptop and brought up a list of NYPD reports from the previous two weeks. It was going to be a long night.

*****

The opening day of the trial was a festive one at the New York courthouse.

Peter took a seat in the third row. The front row was filled with journalists, the rest almost exclusively taken up by NYPD officers, US Marshals and FBI agents who had come to see their nemesis brought down. Then there were the regular courtroom gawkers. As far as Peter could tell, the only person who had come from Neal's side was June Ellington. She was sitting in the second row, apparently alone.

Ruiz spotted him and came to join him. "This seat's taken?" he asked, for politeness sakes.

Peter waved at it, magnanimously.

"Look at him," Ruiz said after a minute of silence, "with that vintage suit. That boy's got balls. With all his money, I'd thought he'd have a whole line of top-hitting lawyers, not some young kid straight out of college."

Peter was pretty sure that was the same lawyer Neal had used last time. "You froze his accounts, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but he could have asked for funds to pay for a lawyer. Besides, we know most of his cash isn't in the bank."

"Hm.. Maybe he can't access it."

"Maybe." Ruiz shot Peter a look. In the past Caffrey never seemed to have cash flow problems. Maybe something had changed.

Caffrey was brought in, guided by a bailiffs on both sides, shackled by his hands and feet, double cuffs on each. As per the judge's instructions, the handcuffs will be removed once he was seated, but the chains were going to remain on his feet throughout the trial. The Prosecution had argued that the defendant was a major escape risk, and demanded extra security precautions. There were extra bailiffs in the courtroom and extra police stationed all around the courthouse. Neal was getting the 'red carpet' treatment reserved for New York's criminal finest.

Neal's lawyer, a young man, sat next to him. Their heads bowed together as he gave his client last minute instructions. Neal was smiling, but then, the young man was almost always smiling. Peter wondered how long that was going to last. 

Josh Stuart, Neal's lawyer, waited for the bailiffs to walk away. "The Prosecution seems to think you can magically disappear right before their very eyes."

Neal laughed it off, but he's already gotten to the conclusion that no matter what, he wasn't going to prison again. For now, he was playing it nice, though he could easily slip out of his cuffs, but he'd already started planning his greatest disappearing trick. A few shackles on his hands were not going to stop him.

"Talking about disappearing... what about getting me out of solitary?"

"I've already made some inquiries, and requested that you be transferred to the general population. The request was denied."

"Why?"

"Well, the answer depends on who you ask. I've gotten quite a few different ones. My feeling, Neal, is that your reputation as an escape artist precedes you."

"I never escaped police custody." Not recently, that is.

"That's not the point. Besides that, they claim that it's for your own protection, since you're an FBI informant."

Neal's jaw dropped. "What?!"

"You helped the FBI out, they're helping you now. Also," the lawyer smoothly added, "you claim that Matthew Keller tried to kill you, more than once. We can't really argue on that point."

"Great."

"Look, Neal, bottom line - you pissed off quite a lot of people. What did you expect?"

Neal looked back at the crowd of onlookers. He could see Peter and Ruiz chatting together.

"Neal?" The lawyer drew his attention back. "Let's just review what we have, okay?"

A few minutes later, the audience in the courtroom was instructed to stand up as the judge entered.

"Judge Julina Manuel presiding!" She was presented by the bailiff.

She took her seat and glanced at the courtroom. "Good morning, everybody. Members of the jury, thank you for being here today. As you probably know, this is a murder trial and requires you to pay attention at all times."

His lawyer had warned him that the Judge Manuel was considered a hardliner against criminals. Neal would have a hard time charming her with his smile. He actually might have an easier time with the jury. He glanced at them. The twelve people who might decide his fate. There were listening attentively to the judge. One of the women looked over at him and smiled. He hoped that was a good sign.

The judge finished her remarks to the jury and looked out at the crowd. "I'm aware that this trial is a media event, but I do not need to remind the journalists here, that this is a courtroom, not a circus. Now, counselor, care to start?" 

The prosecution started with their opening statement, outlining the basic facts of the case, as they saw them. The defendant had stolen the vase and had come to the motel in order to sell it off. During this exchange, the defendant murdered Mr. Stamper, by means of a bullet to the head. He then escaped and was on the run until he was caught by the FBI, at which time he confessed to the murder.

Then the defense introduced their side of the story. The defendant, Mr. Caffrey, had been set up by an escaped convict named Michael Keller. The convict in question wanted to kill the defendant, because the defendant had previously helped the FBI put Keller in jail. Cunningly, he managed to get both Mr. Caffrey and Mr. Stamper into the motel. There, Keller shot the late Mr. Stamper, and was about to kill Mr. Caffrey as well, but the defendant managed to get away. Mr. Caffrey was injured and afraid Keller will finish the job, so he stayed in hiding until he could contact the FBI and hand himself in. 

The trial could now begin.


	12. Chapter 12

The prosecution started with Ruiz's testimony. He was called up to the stand, sworn in, and introduced himself.

The prosecutor quickly ran him through the main parts of the case. His suspicion that Neal had stolen the vase ("it fit Caffrey's MO"), being called in to check the murder scene ("the vase was there, broken to pieces, and Mr. Caffrey's fingerprints were all over the place"), the body ("killed execution-style"), the state of the room ("looked liked a struggle had taken place"), the hunt for Caffrey ("I finally arrested him, hiding in a home not far from the Paradise Motel") and his confession ("he admitted to killing the victim").

The prosecutor finally looked over at Stuart. "Your witness."

Neal's lawyer got up and approached the witness stand.

*****

Josh Stuart had been Neal's lawyer that last time that he had been caught by the FBI. He was Mozzie's go-to lawyer, when he needed somebody to appear in court, and Neal had followed his friend's advice.

He was the only man in the world, aside from June, who had heard Neal's full tale.

Neal had called him the day that he had been arrested, after he had confessed to the FBI.

The passage of years hadn't shown much effect on Josh, but then, it hadn't on Neal either. But men looked younger than their age. He had come into the FBI interrogation room with a thin briefcase. "It's been a long time, Neal."

"I hoped it was going to be longer," Neal quipped.

"Hm. You don't look good."

"Thanks."

"Agent Ruiz says you fell down, is that true?"

Neal sighed. "Not my best moment."

"I see." Josh sat down, removed a legal pad from his briefcase, and then scribbled a few things on his pad. "Before we begin, anything we say here is covered by client-lawyer confidentiality, and the Prosecution cannot lay its hands on it. So let's get down to business... You are facing two charges, Neal: grand theft, for stealing the Ming vase, and murder, possibly second degree, depends on the DA, for the murder of Dominique Stamper."

"I didn't-"

"Please, Neal, let me finish. It really didn't help that you confessed."

"I had no choice," Neal said morosely. 

"Yeah, well, it's not the end of the world. Now, I believe in telling my clients the truth as it is. I've reviewed the files, and the outlook isn't good. But, we do have one thing in our favor. The prosecution's case will be based on tying up both charges together. If we can prove you didn't steal the Ming vase, it will derail their murder case, and vice versa. The prosecution doesn't really have any proof that you stole the vase, their only proof is that you might have been trying to sell it off the night Mr. Stamper was murdered."

"Now," Josh glanced at his watch. "Let's start with the basics. Tell me what happened."

"I-"

"Oh, before we begin..." his lawyer interrupted. "It is not my job to determine your innocence. My job is to ensure you get a fair trial, and to use any legal means at my disposal to keep you a free man, for as long as possible, regardless of what you may have done. I will not be put on the stand, and will not have to testify against you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Good. So now, tell me what happened."

******

Josh Stuart now approached Ruiz on the witness stand. He first glanced towards the jury, making sure they were attentive, then back at the FBI agent. "Agent Ruiz... you say Mr. Caffrey confessed to killing Stamper."

"That's right."

"What did Mr. Caffrey ask in return?"

Ruiz shifted in his seat. "In return?"

Josh stepped back to the defense desk, and brought back a piece of paper. "Let me help you out. This is the agreement between the DA and Mr. Caffrey, which Mr. Caffrey required in order to confess. Does it look familiar?"

"Yes."

"Your honor," he turned to the judge. "I'd like to enter this paper into evidence."

"Go ahead," the judge nodded.

Josh held the paper up. "Do you need me to read this out?"

Ruiz wasn't happy with this line of questioning. "Caffrey agreed to confess in return for dropping all charges against any other person involved in helping him."

"Like June Ellington, the elderly lady who had helped him after he was shot."

"That's not-" 

Ruiz tried to object, but Josh stopped him. "Yes or no."

"June Ellington helped hide a wanted ex-con."

"Didn't she contact the FBI, and said Mr. Caffrey wants to hand himself in?"

"She didn't contact me."

"I see." Josh put the DA's contract down in front of Ruiz. "So Mr. Caffrey was protecting Mrs. Ellington by confessing?"

"Objection!" The DA was on her feet.

"Sustained."

Josh was just fine with that. The jury had heard what he wanted to say. "Okay, so let's talk about these charges. Agent Ruiz, you say that the theft fit Mr. Caffrey's MO."

"Yes, sir."

"Can you explain what that is?"

Ruiz looked at Neal, then back to the lawyer. "Bold and daring, flawlessly executed. The thief was in and out before any of the guards even noticed."

Seated by the defendant's table, Neal beamed.

"Did you find any evidence to point to Mr. Caffrey?"

Ruiz hesitated. "There were no fingerprints, if that's what you mean."

"That's partially what I mean. Was there any other evidence that proved Mr. Caffrey committed the crime."

Again, Ruiz hesitated. "That's part of Mr. Caffrey's MO."

"Leaving no proof?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose you called Mr. Caffrey in for interrogation."

"Of course."

"What did he say?"

"He claimed he was in his hotel room that night."

"And was he?"

"I don't think he was."

"Let's make this easier, for both of us... what did the hotel security cameras show?"

Ruiz sighed. "Mr. Caffrey entered his room in the afternoon, and didn't come out until morning."

"And yet, you suspected he was involved."

"That's right. Caffrey always comes up with some alibi or other. He could have sneaked out of his hotel room without anybody seeing."

"Without going through the door."

"Yes, sir."

Stuart looked at the jury, who all seemed to be following closely. 

"Let me make sure I understand this. It's not just in this case... Mr. Caffrey _always_ has a verifiable alibi for the crimes he's suspected of doing, but you are sure he's involved in them anyway."

"Yes, sir. Caffrey is-"

"That was a yes or no question, Agent Ruiz. You continued suspecting Caffrey despite having an alibi, because you were sure he's involved."

When Ruiz took his time answering, Stuart prodded. "Is that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay. Agent Ruiz, about two years ago, the defendant, Mr. Caffrey, helped the FBI arrest Matthew Keller for murder. Is that correct?"

"Yes, but that's-"

"That was a yes or no question," Stuart admonished him.

Ruiz forced a smile. "That's correct."

"How did Keller respond to his arrest?"

"He wasn't happy."

"What did he say?"

Ruiz blinked. "I don't remember."

Stuart turned to the judge. "Mr. Keller was arrested in an FBI sting operation. We'd like to enter into evidence this tape of Mr. Keller's arrest."

The judge nodded. "Go ahead."

The tape started playing for the jury. They saw the FBI streaming into the room, Keller's gang raising their hands.

Stuart paused the tape. "On your left, you see Mr. Keller, on your right, Mr. Caffrey." He continued playing. Keller had tackled Neal, and started punching him. "You son of a bitch!" he shouted. "You ratted us out!" 

This continued for a few painful moments, until an FBI agent dragged Keller away. Keller was not finished, though. "I'll kill you, Caffrey! You're not going to get away with this!"

Stuart paused the tape, the scene freezing with Keller's shouts in the air. The lawyer then turned to Ruiz. "Do you remember now, Agent Ruiz?"

Ruiz sighed. "Yes."

"Okay. So Mr. Caffrey helped you arrest Mr. Keller, and Mr. Keller threatened retribution. Are you aware that Mr. Keller had escaped prison two weeks before the murder of Mr. Stamper?"

"Yes."

"And yet, when Mr. Caffrey told you during his interrogation that Keller had tried to kill him, you dismissed that."

"That's right."

"Care to tell us why?" It was a tricky question, as Ruiz was given the opportunity to actually explain himself. But Stuart was betting that Ruiz would do a bad job of it.

"Because Caffrey is a liar."

Stuart ignored the impulse to grin in relief. His bet had paid off. "So you ignored his statements, Agent Ruiz, because you decided ahead of time, that Mr. Caffrey is lying."

"No, I ignored his statements because he _was_ lying. There's no way Keller would come to New York just to try and kill Caffrey. He escaped a federal prison in Kentucky, he wouldn't have come to New York." 

"And so, you did not investigate any of Mr. Caffrey's claims to the contrary."

Ruiz shook his head. "I did investigate his claims. We did not find any corroborating evidence of a third person in the room that night."

"Agent Ruiz, you've been tasked with investigating Mr. Caffrey's alleged criminal activity."

"It's not so alleged."

"I was not asking for commentary, Agent Ruiz. Now, do you agree that Mr. Caffrey is not known to use guns?"

"As far as I know, but there's always a first time."

"Does he have a reputation of employing violence?"

"That's-"

"Yes or no."

"No."

"So can you explain to the jury why Mr. Caffrey is being investigated by the FBI's Violent Crimes Division?"

"Objection!" the prosecutor rose to her feet. "This has nothing to do with the case at hand."

Stuart turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I am trying to show that Mr. Caffrey was being hounded by the authorities, long before the incident of this case, and that this was the reason why he was hesitant to approach them."

The judge considered that for a moment. "You may continue."

"Thank you. Agent Ruiz? Why was the Violent Crimes Division investigating Mr. Caffrey?"

"His case was transfered to my division after he blew up fireworks in Central Park, and started a fire which required the evacuation of an entire block."

"Was he ever charged for that fire?"

Now Ruiz hesitated. "No."

"Isn't it true that Mr. Caffrey was actually speaking to an FBI agent at the time when he was supposedly blowing up fireworks?"

"The fireworks were blown up by a partner of his."

Stuart ignored Ruiz's response and doggedly repeated the question. "Was Mr. Caffrey speaking to an FBI agent at the time when he was supposedly blowing up fireworks?"

"Yes."

"You say the fireworks were blown up by a partner. Was this partner ever charged?"

"No."

"Do you know who blew up the fireworks?"

Ruiz was visibly getting frustrated. "No, but-"

"But that," the lawyer supplied, "was the reason that Violent Crimes took over his case."

Ruiz couldn't let it go. "Caffrey _did_ start that fire. I don't know how he managed it, but he did it."

Stuart smiled at him. "Thank you, Agent Ruiz. That will be all."


	13. Chapter 13

Clinton found Peter in his office, typing away. He knocked perfunctorily at the door.

"Jones!" Peter looked up from his computer screen

"You're busy?" 

"No, no... how can I help you?"

Clinton stepped into the room. 

"I'm sorry I missed out Ellington as a possibility. I reviewed the Ellington case, I just didn't realize-"

Peter waved that away. "Forget it. Nobody could have seen that."

"Still." 

"Don't worry about it."

Peter was about to return to his work, but realized that his agent was still standing at the door. "Really, nobody saw the Ellington connection. We still don't understand it." That last comment was said mostly to himself.

"Yeah..." Clinton shifted. "I did want to ask, about the Caffrey case."

"What about it?" Peter's attention focused back on Jones.

Jones took a few more steps in, closing the door behind him. Unconsciously he lowered his voice. "I don't think Caffrey's innocent, but his story about Keller... why would he make up such a thing? It's such a wild story."

"It is, isn't it?"

"And the thing about Caffrey... We've covered him for a long time, and he has never blamed somebody else for something he did."

"That's true..." Peter said slowly. 

"So we should investigate the Keller option."

"We were told not to investigate him."

"Yeah." Clinton smiled, "But you're working on a hunch, aren't you?"

The statement caught Peter by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I want to help," Clinton said.

Peter shot him a questioning glance.

"We can't let Keller get away with murder, right?"

*****

The next day,the trial continued.

Peter and Ruiz once again met in the onlookers' gallery.

"Hey, did you see this? Keller sent Caffrey a postcard." Ruiz held up his phone.

Peter took it and examined the pictures displayed. The front picture was a non-descript beach - blue skies, clear water, sand. The back side had some writing scribbled on it. "Stamper was a friend. Hope you rot in prison for the rest of your life. PS met up with Kate, she sends her warmest regards." It was signed "-K".

"It was sent a day after Caffrey was arrested," Ruiz added. "From the French Riviera."

Peter looked again at both pictures. "How did Caffrey react?"

"He didn't."

Peter glanced at Ruiz. "He didn't?"

"Keller's a wanted criminal. His postcard is being withheld by the Marshals. They're in touch with Interpol."

"I doubt Keller's in France," Peter noted.

"Yeah, well, in any case", Ruiz took back his phone, "this shows Keller didn't kill Stamper."

"Oh, come on. Keller's toying with him."

"What's with you and that kid?" Ruiz asked. "You're always standing up for him."

Peter just shook his head. "I just have a feeling this time..."

"Just remember whose side you're on, okay?"

"I'm on the side of truth and-"

"Justice and the American way?" Ruiz rolled his eyes. "God help me, Burke."

The judge entered the courtroom before Peter had a chance to respond. Soon the trial was underway.

The prosecution started with Zhao Zheng, the security officer for the Chinese consulate.

"The Consul's residence was undergoing renovations, so the vase was removed to a safe in one of the side rooms."

"And it was stolen from there?"

"Yes. We have a two-person security team at the consulate. That evening, the team was called out due to a minor accident in front of the consulate. They were barely there five minutes, but by the time they got back, the safe had been breached."

"The vase was gone?"

"The whole safe had been cleaned out. In addition to the vase, they stole money and jewelry."

The prosecutor turned to Stuart. "Your witness."

"Mr. Zhao, you say you didn't see the thief."

"That's right. Our security team discovered the theft after the fact."

"Thank you."

Next up was Detective Valerie Adams, who handled the case of the stolen Ming vase.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"NYPD got a reported break-in at the Chinese Consulate. We were allowed in to investigate the room where the break-in occurred, and checked forensics, but we did not find anything".

"Did you have a suspect in mind?"

Stuart stood up. "Objection, your Honor!"

"Okay..." The DA did not wait for the judge's decision, and instead she reframed the question. "Did you interrogate Neal Caffrey for this case?"

"Yes, ma'am. The crime fit Caffrey's MO, but he had an alibi for that night, and as I said, we did not find any forensics to prove it."

"So you shelved the case?"

"Yes, ma'am. Until the vase was found at the Paradise Motel, next to Mr. Stamper's body, shattered to pieces."

Stuart approached Adams once it was his turn. "We understand the Chinese consulate's security team was called out due to an accident. Did you investigate that?"

"We did," Adams nodded. "The Chinese detained them until we arrived. But the people involved had no record, and were not in possession of the stolen items."

Next the prosecution called up Officer Dudley, who had responded to the 911 call the night of the murder.

The prosecutor approached the witness. "My partner, Officer Reilly, and I answered a call about shooting at the Paradise Motel. When we got there, the place was dead. There was nobody at the office, and nobody outside. We started scanning the building, but it took us about ten minutes to find the murder scene."

"What did you see there?"

"The door to the room was open. There were streaks of blood on the door, and inside. We found a body lying on the floor. The sheets were all messed up. We immediately secured the area, and called it in."

"Did you see anybody else?"

"No, ma'am."

"Right." She turned to Stuart. "Your witness."

"We pass," the defense counsel announced.

Next, the prosecutor called up the Medical Examiner, Dr. Sandra Chi. A diminutive woman, she leaned forward on the stand to see the lawyer in front of her.

"Dr. Chi, can you tell us what you found in your autopsy?"

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Stamper was killed with one direct shot, straight to the forehead."

"Can you tell, based on the position of the body, what Mr. Stamper was doing?"

"He was standing, most probably holding the vase, based on the distribution of the shards. Thought that's less of my expertise."

"So he wasn't shot during a struggle?"

"Correct."

The prosecutor entered pictures into evidence, showing the state of the body as it was found, the shards of the vase, the look of shock on Stamper's face.

"Do you think Mr. Stamper expected to be killed?"

"Not really. He looked... surprised."

Stuart passed on cross-examination.

"What are you doing?" Neal whispered. "They're making me out to be a cold-blooded murderer!"

His lawyer put a steadying hand on his client's shoulder. "Calm down. I know what I'm doing." Any questions he might ask now would enable the prosecution to further undermine Neal's version of events.

Ali Rahman, the taxi driver who had driven Neal, was called up to the witness stand. He gave a quick account of the events of that evening.

The prosecutor focused on the package Caffrey took with him. "Mr. Rahman, can you tell us how big this package was?"

"About this big," the man approximated with his hands.

The prosecutor took out a real-sized model of the vase, and positioned it in front of the witness. "About this big?"

Stuart was on his feet. "Objection!" 

"Overruled. Please continue."

The driver looked at the vase. "Yeah, I suppose so." 

"How was Mr. Caffrey holding this package? Was he holding it like it contained something important."

"I think so."

"Thank you. That will be all. Your witness."

"We pass."

"Very well," the judged said. "Defense declines to cross-examine."

Next up was John Tyler, the man who had found the murder weapon. He did not look very impressive on the stand, but his testimony more than made up for it. 

"I saw this guy.. He was walking funny, like he had a problem with his leg, and-"

The prosecutor interrupted, "Can you identify the person in question?"

"Well, I don't know his name, if that's what you mean."

"Do you see him here in the courtroom?"

Tyler looked around. "Yes. He's sitting over there."

"For the record, Mr. Tyler is pointing at the defendant, Mr. Caffrey. Okay, so what else did you see?"

"He was walking funny, and then he came up to the dumpster, and looked around, like to make sure nobody saw him. He didn't see me, cause I was standing in the dark. And then he threw in something. So after he left, I like waited a bit, and then I got into the dumpster to look for it. I thought it might be important, like some... some money."  
  
"And what did you find?"

"I found a gun. And.. And I took it. And then-"

The prosecutor cut him off right there. "Okay, that's okay. What did this gun look like?"

"Like a normal gun."

"Was there anything special about it?"

The man thought for a long minute. The crowd started shifting in their seats, but the prosecutor waited patiently. She had run through this line of questioning with Mr. Tyler several times ahead of this session. 

"It was kind of sticky," he finally said.

The prosecutor took out a gun inside a plastic evidence bag. "Is this it?"

"I suppose so."

She entered the gun into evidence. "Let it be stated that this gun was reported stolen in New York City a week before the murder. Mr. Caffrey's and Mr. Tyler's fingerprints were found on the gun." 

"The prosecution would also like to enter the following two items into evidence." Neal's phone and gloves were also found in the dumpster.

Stuart passed on cross-examination, leaving Neal very frustrated. "Neal," Stuart whispered to his client, "they found your _phone_! The gun had your _fingerprints_ , for goodness sakes. Pulling apart this testimony will not help us. I agree that things don't look good-"

"You think?" Neal asked sarcastically.

Stuart ignored Neal's tone. "-But doing something stupid will not help things."

*****

It was after Court had recessed for the day that Neal turned to his lawyer. "Maybe this will help." He handed Stuart a smartphone.

Stuart looked at it with some alarm. "What... where did you get this?"

A smiling Neal lightly inclined his head towards the prosecutor's table. "You can probably find some helpful information there."

It took Josh a full second to understand what Neal was implying. "Are you nuts?!"

"Josh..." Neal warned.

Josh lowered his voice. "You stole the _prosecutor's phone_ inside a _courthouse_! Do you have any idea what would have happened if they would have caught you?"

"But they didn't. Besides, I didn't steal it." At Josh's disapproving glance, he hurried to correct himself. "I just borrowed it for a little while."

"Really? And how am I supposed to return it? Tell the DA I just happened to find it?"

"Exactly."

"You realize the DA is probably looking all over for this right now? She could easily locate-"

The conversation was cut short by two bailiffs, who approached with cuffs in hand. "Caffrey, time to go."

Neal stood up and put out his hands for them to put the cuffs on. "Just tell her you found it. Your decision, if you want to check what's in there."

"Right, as if I'd want to be caught dead-"

"Hey, you'll need to do it anyway, right? To figure out how to return it."

The bailiffs directed Neal away.

"I'm giving it back right away!" Josh called after him. He looked at the device. "God."


	14. Chapter 14

Locked back in his cell, Neal paced back and forth. Every lap was two steps, after which he hit a wall and had to go back.

Neal wished he could contact Mozzie. His friend usually had zany ideas on how to fix things. That is, if Mozzie even wanted to speak to him at this point. Last time they spoke, he hadn't left on such good terms.

But now... he had dug himself a hole so deep, he wasn't sure he could con himself a ladder out of it.

He had been flippant when he had spoken to June about. He had spent a few years on the run after all, and it had been fun. Matching wits with Agent Burke, keeping one step ahead of the hounds hot on the trail.

But the thought of doing it again scared him. It scared him even more to end up in prison again.

The only reason he was sticking it out, was because _this_ time he _was_ innocent. The question was whether he'll manage to convince a jury of that.

*****

Stuart had some trouble building his defense lineup. They couldn't call June to the stand, since Neal confessed to her, and if the prosecution asked her directly, would most probably perjure herself. They certainly couldn't call Kayla, as that could land her in hot legal waters. He didn't want to have Neal on the stand either, though the conman practically begged to be allowed on there. Neal was sure he could talk anybody out of anything. Stuart didn't want to risk it.

And that's where Agent Burke came in. After peeking at the DA's phone, Stuart realized that some people in the FBI actually believed Neal's story. It was risky, but when it came to a murder trial that hung on proving Neal's guilt "beyond a reasonable doubt", Stuart needed all the help he could get.

The phone call caught Peter on the elevator up to work. "Agent Burke?"

"Speaking."

"This is Josh Stuart... I'm representing Mr. Caffrey in his trial. Do you have a moment?"

"Hold on." Peter entered the White Collar offices, cut straight through the bullpen and up to his office, where he shut the door. "Yeah, yeah. How can I help you?"

"I understand you believe that Keller tried to kill my client."

Peter paused. "Where do you understand that from?"

"That's less important right now."

"Is it?"

"Let's just say I got inside information on this point."

"From who?"

Josh hesitated. "My client."

Peter frowned. 

The lawyer continued, "Do you think Keller came to New York to kill Neal?"

"I think that it's possible," Peter said, carefully. 

"I'd like to call you up to testify about that."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"I've got to warn you... I think your client stole that vase."

"Yes, but you don't think he murdered Stamper."

Peter hesitated long enough for Stuart to try again. "If you were in charge of the investigation, what would you do?"

"I'd look for Keller."

"That's what I'd like you to testify."

*****

  
Once Burke was sworn in, Stuart approached the witness stand. "Please state your name, and place of employment."

"My name is Peter Burke, I'm Assistant Special Agent in Charge at the FBI's White Collar Division."

"How long do you know Mr. Caffrey, Agent Burke?"

"About ten years, I guess."

"You were the FBI agent entrusted with his case?"

"That's right."

"And you caught him for bond fraud, and sent him to jail for four years."

"That's right."

"Since his release, have you been in touch with Mr. Caffrey?"

"Of course, I-"

Josh cut him off before he could add the wrong type of information. "Did Mr. Caffrey help out the FBI?"

"Yes, but-"

"Yes or no answer, please, Agent Burke."

Peter refused to be limited like that. "Mr. Caffrey helped out the FBI when it was in his interests to do so."

"Okay. Is Mr. Caffrey considered an FBI informant?"

Peter hesitated. "He didn't sign any-"

Stuart stopped him. "Let me help you out, Agent Burke. I'd like to enter into evidence, this paper signed by you, asking Rikers Island to put Mr. Caffrey into protective custody. Do you see what it says there?"

Peter could feel Neal's gaze focused at him. "It's a form letter."

"Okay, but what does it say."

Peter took a deep breath. "It says Mr. Caffrey is an FBI informant."

"Thank you, Agent Burke. Now, did Mr. Caffrey risk his life for the FBI?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Did Mr. Caffrey get death threats when he helped out the FBI?"

"I.. Maybe."

"We all saw the video of Mr. Keller's arrest. Did Mr. Keller threaten Mr. Caffrey when Mr. Caffrey helped the FBI catch him?"

"Yes."

"He said he'll kill Mr. Caffrey."

"That's right."

"Mr. Caffrey says that Keller tried to kill him. Is Keller capable of that?"

"Keller is a very dangerous man. He was serving a federal sentence for murder."

"Would he come to New York and risk getting caught just to settle a score?"

"Objection!" The DA was quick to shout out.

The defense attorney held up his hand, agreeing to try a different way. "If you were handling this case, what would you do?"

"I would-" Peter started, but the prosecutor again stopped him in his tracks.

"Objection!"

Stuart bit his lip. "Do you think Keller was serious in his threats to kill Mr. Caffrey?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe Caffrey is telling the truth about Keller?"

Peter hesitated. "Yes."

That caused a bit of a stir among the onlookers. The judge banged her gavel, and waited till it remained quiet.

"Okay. You investigated a recent case in which Mr. Caffrey was threatened, is that correct?" Stuart had to be careful here. He did not want Peter to say that Caffrey was caught in criminal activities.

"That's right. He-"

"Mr. Caffrey helped the FBI catch a smuggling syndicate."

Peter wasn't sure he liked that phrasing. "I guess you could say so."

Stuart didn't want to emphasize the point. "During the FBI operation, your surveillance heard threats against Mr. Caffrey."

"That's right."

"I will play a clip here, that I'd like to enter into evidence. This is conversation between Dao Quy and Sean Ginty, two members of this smuggling syndicate. The first voice we hear is Dao's.

"Yeah," Dao said.

"You've got it?" Ginty answered.

"Caffrey said he'll deliver the piece tomorrow." 

"Good. Make the transfer, and then.. " Ginty made a popping noise. "You know what to do."

Stuart had cut the tape at that point, right before the two had continued discussing Neal's forging prowess. 

"Agent Burke, did Mr. Dao try to kill Mr. Caffrey?"

"Yes."

"Do you know _why_ Mr. Dao wanted to kill Mr. Caffrey?"

"No. We never did find out."

"Was it a personal vendetta?"

"Not according to Mr. Dao. He told C-, that is, the defendant, that he wasn't doing it for the money, or any personal reasons."

"Do you think it's possible Mr. Keller got Mr. Dao to try and kill Mr. Caffrey?"

"Objection!"

"Sustained." 

At least Stuart got the jury to hear the question. 

He moved on to his last topic. "After Mr. Caffrey was shot at the hotel, were you involved in the FBI manhunt to find him?"

"Yes."

"Were you contacted by Mr. Caffrey?"

"Not directly, but yes."

"Did Mr. Caffrey offer to hand himself in to the authorities?"

"Yes, yes, he did."

"Thank you, Agent Burke." He turned to the prosecution. "The witness is yours."

The prosecutor stood up and approached the witness stand.

"Agent Burke, you said you know Mr. Caffrey for about ten years?"

"That's right."

"How long ago was Mr. Caffrey released from prison?"

"About two-three years ago."

"You've investigated him since?"

"Many times."

"For what crimes?"

"Almost everything: forgery, fraud, theft..."

"Do you think he's reformed?"

"Objection!"

"Overruled," said the judge. "We've already established Agent Burke's expertise."

"Agent Burke?" The prosecutor prodded.

Peter looked at Neal. "I know for a fact that he isn't."

"Do you think he stole the Ming Vase?"

Peter was already nodding, when Stuart jumped to his feet. "Objection!"

"Sustained."

The DA smiled. "Thank you, Agent Burke."

*****

It was long after midnight at the Burke's residence, and Peter and Clinton were getting quite frustrated.

They had been meeting for several days now, trying to clandestinely investigate Caffrey's story. But there was no sign of Keller at the motel. In fact, there was no sign of him in New York. They had focused their search on the places where Keller had been, supposedly: the crime scene and the area where the gun had been stolen. They had gone through NYPD reports and 911 calls for the past week, and found nothing. They had even checked the security footage from those two areas, and nothing. The camera coverage was spotty, so technically, they might have just missed it. But still.

Clinton stretched his arms above his head, then reached for the plate of cookies that Elizabeth had thoughtfully left behind before she disappeared off to bed. He glanced at Peter, who was looking rather bored as he read through another police report on his laptop. "It pains me to say this," he said as he munched his cookie, "but maybe Ruiz is right."

Peter looked up at his younger agent, stifling a sigh. After all the work they'd put into this, he really didn't like to concede defeat. 

"You think he's innocent?" Clinton prodded.

Peter chuckled. "'Caffrey' and 'innocent' are two words I never thought would go together. It's just... I've got a gut feeling about this." He paused, thinking, "and I'd really like to prove Ruiz wrong on this one."

Clinton chuckled. 

Peter continued, "But maybe my gut's wrong on this one. Maybe Caffrey did make it all up. Keller did threaten to kill him, we all heard it."

"And we know that somebody's out to get him."

"Right. Keller's doing three life sentences for murder anyway, if he's caught. So maybe Caffrey figured there's no harm."

The two agents considered that for a long silent moment. 

"Though," Peter said, "I'd still like to prove Ruiz wrong."

Clinton looked up at the ceiling, seeking inspiration. Then he suddenly looked back at Peter. "Maybe we're looking at it the wrong way."

"What do you mean?"

The junior agent grabbed the legal pad and a pen. "We're focusing on who shot Stamper, right?"

"Yeah."

"We've got Stamper, Caffrey and Keller." Jones wrote down all three names as points of a triangle.

"So Caffrey claims."

"Right. Now, Caffrey says that Keller shot both him and Stamper." He drew arrows from Keller towards the two others. "But what if Caffrey's lying? We can't prove Keller was even in the room." Clinton crossed out Keller's name. 

"Then Caffrey shot Stamper," Peter inputted. That's exactly what the prosecution thought.

Clinton drew yet another arrow from Caffrey to Stamper. "Yeah, but Caffrey got shot too, so that also means that-"

"-That Stamper shot Caffrey," Peter completed the sentence, his eyes opening wide at the realization. 

The two agents exchanged a quick smile. They now had a new angle to work on.

*****

The next morning Peter headed for Stuart's office. the office of Neal's lawyer was actually not located far, and Peter figured this required a face-to-face.

At his question, the receptionist, busy on the phone, pointed down the hallway. 

"Thanks."

Peter passed quite a few offices before he found the one that said "Stuart" on the door.

He knocked at the door and opened it. The place inside was cramped with books, everywhere you looked. There was barely any room to stand. Like Ruiz, Peter had figured Neal would have taken a better-paid lawyer. Or at least, a lawyer with more staff and more office-space.

Stuart was on the phone. "That is unacceptable! I want to talk to my client." He lifted a finger, an unspoken request for Peter to wait. "Yeah." A few more seconds passed by. "Well, make that happen." He hung up, then turned to Peter. "Yes, Agent Burke? I suppose you didn't locate Keller, by any chance."

"No."

Josh just shook his head.

"But I think you might be interested in this." Peter pulled a page out of the file he was carrying and slapped it down in front of the lawyer.

Josh glanced at it, then leaned forward to take another look. He looked up at Peter. "Well, that changes everything, doesn't it?"


	15. Chapter 15

Ruiz waved to Peter when he entered the courtroom. "Saved you a seat!" 

Peter suppressed a sigh, but joined his FBI colleague.

"So..." Ruiz said, once Peter dropped down next to him. "You're working for the enemy team now?"

Peter caught his breath. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying not to sound as tense as he felt. Did Ruiz know he'd been helping Caffrey's defense lawyer?

Luckily, Ruiz didn't notice. "You testified for Caffrey."

Peter could finally exhale. "His lawyer called me up, I had no choice."

"Hm." 

Ruiz left it at that.

Once proceedings commenced, the defense lawyer called the paramedic who had treated Neal after his arrest.

"Can you describe what happened that evening?"

"Yeah. I was called to treat a perp who was injured during an arrest."

"Can you identify the person in question?"

The man nodded. "Neal Caffrey, he's sitting right over there."

"Okay. Now what kind of injury was it?"

"He had a recent gunshot wound, which had been patched up, but opened up during the arrest."

"You're sure it was a gunshot wound?"

"Pretty much."

"And what did you do?"

"I patched him up and gave him two aspirin for the pain."

"Thank you. Your witness."

The prosecutor passed.

"I'd like to enter into evidence this bullet. It was found in the crime scene, with Mr. Caffrey's DNA on it." There was no doubt that Neal was shot at the scene.

"Your Honor, I'd like to recall Dr. Sandra Chi to the witness stand."

"Go ahead."

The ME was once again called to testify. 

"Dr. Chi, you performed the autopsy on Mr. Stamper?" 

"That's right."

"What did you find?"

The DA raised a hand. "Objection! We're repeating the doctor's previous testimony."

Josh didn't intend to fight on this issue. "Okay... You completed a full autopsy?"

"I did, that's standard procedure."

"Did you find any other gunshot wounds?"

"No, sir."

"Did you check the victim's hands for gunshot residue?"

Ruiz shifted in his seat. "What the hell is he doing?" he whispered to Peter.

"No idea." Of course, Peter had some idea, but he wasn't about to lay it out for Ruiz.

Dr. Chi frowned at the question. "Uh... no, sir."

"Why not?"

"That's not standard procedure."

"I'd like to bring up the autopsy report, which was already entered into evidence." He waited for the proper form to show up on the large screen. "As we can see... Mr. Stamper's hands were not checked for gunshot residue."

Stuart produces a pair of gloves in an evidence bag. 

"I'd like to enter into evidence these gloves, worn by Mr. Stamper during the incident. As can be seen from the lab report, the gloves had no gunshot residue."

He turned to the jury, making sure he had their attention. "Mr. Stamper could not have shot Mr. Caffrey."

A murmur started up among the crowd. 

"Which means," Stuart continued, "that he was shot by a third party in the room."

The murmurs grew louder. The judge banged her gavel. "Order in the court! Counsels, please approach the bench."

Both lawyers went over to the judge.

"Your Honor," the DA said, "the prosecution would like further time to review this new material."

Stuart shot her a look. "Your Honor, the Prosecution is wasting the court's time. They have been hounding my client from day one. My client is being held in solitary confinement-"

"It's protective custody," the DA interrupted, "and it's for his own good."

Josh ignored her. "Your Honor, the DA refused to listen to Mr. Caffrey's version of events. If the Prosecution would have done their job in the first place, we wouldn't be standing here now. My client should be released immediately."

"The Prosecution objects, Your Honor. Regardless of the new evidence uncovered by the Defense, Mr. Caffrey is suspected of grand theft, and he is still a flight risk."

The judge sighed. "Okay, please return to your places."

She waited until they did so. "Court will recess till tomorrow. The Prosecution is being given one day to review this new material. Meanwhile, the defendant will remain in DOJ custody." The judge banged her gavel.

*****

The next day, the courtroom was packed with onlookers. TV journalists were standing outside, preparing their reports. Peter barely found standing room in the back. Ruiz didn't show up. 

All eyes were on the DA when she stood up to address the court.

The prosecuting team had spent the entire night arguing over the possibilities. They couldn't possibly charge Caffrey with murder, now that it was obvious that his testimony was correct (or somewhat correct), and their grand theft case fell apart in the wake of the murder charge. They could continue the trial, but the chances of acquittal were quite high, and it would fit with Caffrey's narrative that he was an innocent man wrongly hounded by the authorities.

"Your Honor, the Prosecution agrees to drop all charges against Mr. Caffrey."

The crowd immediately broke into not-so-silent whispers. The journalists' heads were down to their phones.

The judge banged her gavel for quiet. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, your Honor."

"This is very unusual. I've got to say, that the Prosecution has done a damn fine job of screwing this case up. Next time, make sure you have the facts straight before you approach the court." 

The DA merely nodded. 

"The defendant will be released by the end of the day. On behalf of this court, Mr. Caffrey, we offer you our apologies." The judge banged her gavel once for emphasis. 

After the judge exited the courtroom, the place erupted with everybody talking at once.

Peter made his way towards Neal through the rush of journalists trying to get a word in.

The young man was full of smiles. "Do you want to offer your apologies too, Agent Burke?"

"You stole that vase. You should go to jail for that." Peter paused to check Neal's response. There was none. "But you're not a murderer."

"Tell Agent Ruiz I missed him." 

"I'll be sure to do that."

Neal looked at Peter for a long moment. "Thanks, Peter."

Peter clapped his shoulder. "Good luck, Neal."

*****

It was getting rather late by the time Neal was finally released. He took a taxi from Rikers Island back to the Gansevoort. He was looking forward to a long, hot shower and then plopping in his bed, to sleep off the nightmare of the past few weeks.

"Mr. Caffrey!" the shift manager waylaid him on his way to the elevators. "We were so happy to hear the news."

Neal flashed him a quick smile, then turned to the elevator and pressed the "up" button.

"I'm not sure how to say this... " the man coughed politely. "You're no longer a guest in this hotel."

Neal wasn't sure he heard right. He turned to the man. "Excuse me?"

"Your last payment bounced, Mr. Caffrey, and-"

"The Feds froze my account," Neal explained. "I will of course pay everything, I just need to-"

"Sir." The manager raised a hand to stop the flow of words. "The Gansevoort is a five-star hotel, and we have a reputation to uphold. We do not welcome..." the manager tried to think of a more delicate word, "... you know."

"No, I don't," Neal replied, coldly.

"Well, in any case, we do not want the FBI tearing our hotel apart." 

"I was framed." 

The manager clicked his fingers, and Neal saw a couple of blazered security officers converging on them. "I really don't want to cause a scene," he said, with an implied threat that this was indeed what he was going to do.

"What about my things?" Besides the one suit he was wearing, he had nothing else on him. He got a few bucks when he was released, enough to pay the taxi fare here, but that's it.

"You'll need to ask the FBI about that. They cleared everything out during their investigation. It was quite inconvenient."

Talk about inconvenience. Neal, at the time, was at death's door.

But there was no point in arguing. Neal was ushered outside. He stood on the sidewalk outside the hotel, shivering in the cold. Where could he possibly go now?

*****

Neal straightened up the fedora on his head and knocked on the door.

After a few minutes, June opened it, and a big smile appeared on her face. "Neal! What a pleasant surprise!"

He had walked half of Manhattan to get here. It was a pleasant walk, usually, but it was now dark, cold, and his wound hadn't fully healed yet. He could feel it throbbing now.

He had picked up a bouquet of yellow roses from a curbside stand on the way (he was sure they were going to throw them out anyway), and he handed them over to June.

"Thank you!" She inhaled their fragrance, then moved aside, "I'm sorry. Please, come in."

She waited as he walked in. "It's good to see you back a free man."

"Indeed." He took off his hat, and twiddled it. 

June opened a closet and took out a vase, putting the flowers in it.

"Is your granddaughter still around?" Neal asked.

"She's back home. Her parents weren't happy they had to come pick her up at the FBI."

"I'm sorry, I-"

June turned back to face Neal. "It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. June, I got you into all of this. Your house... the Feds were here because of me." It did look as though June managed to put it mostly back together.

"Nonsense. Come, let's raise a toast to your acquittal."

She produced a bottle of old scotch from a hidden bar, and poured them both a drink. 

They sat down and sipped at their drink, both caught up in their own thoughts. 

Finally, June put her glass on the side-table. "So... spit it out. Why are you really here?"

Neal instinctively smiled, but then cleared his throat. There was no reason to try and con June. "I was kicked out of my place. I didn't... well, I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"Why don't you stay here?"

"You're sure? I'll look for a new place tomorrow."

June put a hand on his elbow. "Neal, there's no rush. You can stay here for as long as you want."

"Oh, I really can't impose."

June caught his gaze. "My daughters have been trying to get me to move out for over a year. They say it's too dangerous for an elderly lady like me to live here all on her own."

"Really?" 

"They say it's a dangerous neighborhood."

"Really?"

"Yes, lots of shootings here at night. I'm sure they'd be glad to know there's a young man around."

"I doubt they had me in mind," Neal quipped.

June laughed. "Oh, I think you can manage to convince them you're an upstanding young man."

Neal grinned back, but then turned serious. "The Feds might come here after me."

"Oh... let them bring it on."

Neal looked at her with surprise.

"It was getting rather boring around here," she explained. "I could use the excitement."

Neal picked up the bottle and poured them both a refill. He then lifted his glass, and June lifted hers.

They clinked glasses. A toast to a new beginning.


	16. Epilogue

It was mid-morning and Neal was enjoying a cappuccino in one of New York's many cafes. His brief stint in jail reminded him to enjoy the little things in life. The small joys of sitting down to eat whenever and wherever he felt like it, enjoying the warmth of the sun at his back, the throng of people passing by on the sidewalk, the-

Peter slipped into the seat across from his. "How are you doing, Neal?"

"I _was_ doing well," Neal put down his coffee. His small moment of joy was dissipating, quickly. "Is there a reason for this visit, Agent Burke? Any crime you want to ask me about?"

Peter just waved that off. "Your name hasn't come up recently."

"That's because I've taken your words to heart, Agent Burke."

"Really?" Peter didn't believe a word of it. "So... I suppose you heard about Keller?"

Neal sighed. He really wasn't interested in hearing about Keller. "Heard what?"

Peter opened an article on his phone,and held it up for Neal to see. Neal looked at the headline. "American murdered in Cape Verde!" it said in large, bold letters.

He quickly skimmed through the article. Keller was shot dead in a small restaurant. The perp fled by motorbike. There was a manhunt to catch him, but the island authorities assumed he was already off the island, and were doubtful they'd be able to catch him.

When he finished reading, Peter put his phone away in his jacket pocket. "Just tell me you didn't have Keller killed."

Neal looked at Peter, and repeated the words slowly. "I did not have Keller killed."

Peter drew in his breath. "Damn it, Neal."

Neal really wasn't up to this conversation. "What do you want, Agent Burke?"

"I want to know that you're not a murderer."

"Keller deserves it."

"That's not the point!" Peter forced himself to take a calming breath.

"The point," Neal went on the offense, "is that even now you still think I'm a murderer."

"I didn't say-"

Neal didn't let him finish. "You know what? I don't have to take this, I'm not in your interrogation room anymore." He pushed his chair back and got up. 

"Wait!" Peter was surprised to see that Neal actually stopped. "You want to know why I can never trust you? How long did you know Byron?"

"Who?" Neal frowned, the question throwing him off balance.

"Byron Ellington."

"June Ellington's husband?" Neal could still not see where this was going.

"That's right."

"Are you crazy? He's dead, Agent Burke."

"Yeah, but you knew him, right? That whole 'stopping Keller' op, you put June up to it, didn't you?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Peter hesitated, unsure. Neal's protestations sounded genuine enough, but then - that was his forte.

Neal shook his head. "You're really something, you know? No matter how much I stick to the straight and narrow, you will never stop suspecting me."

With that, he walked away, leaving a frustrated FBI agent to pick up the tab.

*****

Neal found Mozzie in his usual spot, feeding the pigeons in Central Park. Mozzie looked at him warily as he approached.

Without a word, Neal sat down on the same bench. "I heard about Keller," he said.

For a long moment, Moz didn't say anything, and then he exploded. "He would have continued to come after you! I-"

Neal raised his hand to stop the flow of words. "I know."

Mozzie looked at him, then back at the pigeons. He threw a few more pieces of bread and was rewarded with much squawking.

"Thanks," Neal said.

Mozzie accepted that with quiet grace.

A long silence ensued. A few times Mozzie seemed about to say something - about Stamper, about the FBI sweep of his safe-houses, about the fact that he'd been gone when Neal needed him - but in the end, all he said was, "I've heard you retired."

"You heard wrong," Neal answered. 

That earned him another quick look from Moz. 

"Let's just say," he continued, "that news of my demise have been greatly exaggerated."

"Oh," Mozzie said. "Because, you know, I was looking for a partner for my next venture."

"Anything interesting?" Neal asked lightly.

"Do we need to worry about the Feds?" Mozzie responded with a question of his own.

Neal chuckled. "Not at all. What did you have in mind?"

He was back in the game.


End file.
